


perhaps even friends

by hirokiyuu



Series: one more time, with feeling [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, New Game Plus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, major series spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-05-17 11:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirokiyuu/pseuds/hirokiyuu
Summary: This wasn’t a second chance, this wasn’t a redemption, this was Goro playing the only card left in his hand in a desperate bid to take Shido down with him before he had to fold. Fuck the election, he was killing that asshole the second he could get a bullet in his brain, and if that meant playing nice with the Phantom Thieves -- well, he’d done worse than that before.He closed his eyes against the light. Dying, he thought, would’ve been so much easier.(Akechi Goro’s New Game Plus.)





	1. prologue: daylight savings won't fix this mess

**Author's Note:**

> chapter title from courtney barnett's [pedestrian at best](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-nr1nNC3ds).
> 
> as usual, thanks to alm for the beta!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Akechi Goro receives some bad news and some good tea.

There was no pain in his chest when he awoke, flat on his back, staring into some infinite darkness. He didn’t bother to sit up as he assessed his condition. His chest wasn’t bleeding but it ached something awful regardless, and when he poked at it with a single finger he hissed.

“Good morning.”

The voice that drifted through the air sounded distantly familiar, but Goro couldn’t place it. He sat up slowly, and -- stopped. The ground he lay on was carved into thin air, burning sigils that hurt the eye; there were columns around their edges made of blinding white stone that stood in the middle of an infinite spiraling galaxy, stars flinging their burning bodies in every distant direction. In the center of this impossible place sat a table with a delicate tea set and a man in a butterfly mask. “Come sit down,” he said, nodding his head at the chair across from him.

Goro was dead already. He stood, and crossed silently, and sat.

“Akechi Goro,” the man said. He was smiling in a way that Goro was intimately familiar with, an expression that served as a placeholder more than anything else. “Welcome to the Sea of Souls.” There were two cups of tea on the table, and he pushed one at Goro. “Please, drink.”

Goro reached out and took the cup, pressed it to his lips but didn’t take a sip. It smelled bright and sweet, and when Goro spoke his voice sent ripples across its surface. “I suppose this is the afterlife, then.”

“Not quite.” Goro’s eyes slid up as the man lifted his own cup of tea. “I plucked you from the space between life and death, where the boundaries between reality and cognition were at their weakest, and brought you here.”

It sounded far too good to be true. Goro put his cup down on his saucer without drinking, and slowly straightened in his seat. “Did you,” he said. He was viscerally aware of his mouth, of his tongue pressing against his teeth, of the movement of every tiny muscle. There was still gunpowder on his lips.

“I did.”

“And are you going to explain why,” Goro said, inflection flat, “or are you going to wait until I’m down on my hands and knees, begging you for the information?”

“Forgive me,” the man said. “It has been a long time since I’ve spoken to a human. It becomes easy to forget conversational cues.”

“Is that so.” It was the kind of statement that would’ve been best punctuated by a smile of some sort, but Goro’s face refused to shape itself as such. “Somehow I don’t believe you.”

The man reached out -- but it was only to take the teapot once more in his hands, filling his half-full cup. Goro watched the man move, and listened to the sound of water, and realized that the bubbling rage in his chest truly wasn’t a thing that could die.

“Let me tell you a story,” the man said, dropping a single cube of sugar in his tea. “There were once two gods, and the powers they possessed were vast. One believed in the endless potential of humanity -- their growth, and their life, and their goodness. The other, put simply, did not.

“They tried to fight their battles directly, but….” His smile slipped. Without it, his face didn’t look quite real -- a puppet carved from meat, animated by some great unseen hand.

The man took a sip of his tea, and when he set his cup down his smile was fixed back in place. “There were several unforeseen complications,” he said. “In the end, their contests were moved to proxy battles. Perhaps you’ve heard of the murder case of Inaba, or that disease that spread over Port Island several years ago.”

“Or the Phantom Thieves of Hearts,” Goro said. “Which I assume is the reason you’re telling me all of this.”

The man nodded. “Precisely.” He blinked once, slowly, and when he opened his eyes there was a strange weight to his gaze that hadn’t been there before. “These games have always been rigged against me,” he said. “I have never minded. To win a rigged game -- I’m sure you understand, how it feels to know the system is stacked against you and to still crush it under your feet.”

Goro bit the inside of his cheek in lieu of replying. “Recent events, however, are such that even I can no longer turn a blind eye.” The man’s smile was less placeholder now; there was an edge to it now that Goro couldn’t decide his feelings on. “The rules of what my proxy ought to be given are very clear; violated, they tip the game from unfair to unwinnable, and that is unacceptable.

“You see,” the man said, “I am forbidden from interfering with my own proxy. Whatever ruin he comes to -- whether it be his own, or whether it be that of his opponents -- must be by his own hand. But you -- in the space between realities you were left abandoned, and thus I found you within my reach.”

“You want to use me as a pawn in your game,” Goro said. For the first time since coming here he smiled, all bared teeth. “You realize that gives me absolutely no desire to work with you, correct?”

“Not as a pawn,” the man said. “While I won’t deny that controlling you would make things easier for me, it simply isn’t possible.”

“You’re not going to reassure me that you’re more noble than that?”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

That was fair. Goro still didn’t lean back in his chair. “I would like to make you an offer,” the man said, after the moment stretched. “This place exists outside the boundaries of space and time. Under my current constrictions, there is a single moment at which I am allowed to interfere with reality, when I offer my proxy his powers. At that moment, I would have the opportunity to deposit all your current memories in your body as well, allowing you to change fate as you wish.”

“Time travel,” Goro said. “Or at least the facsimile of it.” Unbidden, his own stupid words came floating back into his mind. _We could’ve been great rivals, or perhaps --_ But if it were the moment that the Thieves were born, then that would be: “Six months ago, then? Or seven?”

“Yes,” the man said. “From there you would have to go it alone. My abilities only extend so far.”

“And what would you have me do?”

“Whatever you might like.”

“Even if I were to begin working against your plans?”

“Even then,” the man said. “Once I leave you back in reality, I would have no way to influence you.”

If he were telling the truth, it was a good deal, and that was precisely why Goro didn’t trust it. “You’re really going to take that chance,” he said, and disbelief was audible in his voice. “You’d unleash me on them, knowing what I can do.”

The man tilted his head, and under his mask the ruddy brown of his eyes seemed to flicker in the starlight. “I enjoy gambling,” he said. “The joker is a card that can flip the situation on its head-- putting two on the table would be twice as enjoyable, don’t you think?”

Goro couldn’t help it -- he snorted, loud. “Is that so,” he said, and felt his lips curling back in a sneer. “Even if it comes back to bite you in the ass?”

“Even so.”

“And if I refuse?”

The man’s smile didn’t waver. “You will die.”

Goro wasn’t surprised. He sucked in on the side of his cheek, gnawing at the flesh there, and stared at the man across from him.

The thing was -- he had been prepared for death. Ever since he’d stood Shido’s door, fist raised to knock, he’d known he’d been tying a noose around his neck. And he hadn’t cared, not really, not when he’d finally had a purpose, not when he’d finally thought he’d been getting one up on that fucking bastard but --

He hadn’t, in the end, had he? He’d stared down the barrel of his own gun and known that it hadn’t fucking mattered a single bit, everything that he’d done. All his hard work, all his plans, and Shido’d seen through it all. Even without Amamiya and the rest of those fucking Thieves he would’ve found himself with a bullet to the brain eventually; the only difference was the hand that had held the gun, and even then that cognition of himself and the cleaner weren’t so different in Shido’s eyes, were they?

The chance to try again was tempting. And yet -- Goro looked at the person across from him, and said, “Then I refuse.”

“May I ask why?” the man said. Over his shoulder Goro could see some distant sun cut a path through the void.

“I don’t care,” Goro said, and he could feel his sneer crawling back over his face. “About any of it. Your stupid game, or the world. They can all go to hell.”

“Then allow me to phrase the question as such,” the man said, and once more the smile had left his face. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me, honestly, that you have no desire to revenge, I will let you die. If you are content with having being spat on your entire life, if you are willing to pass on before realizing even an iota of your potential, if you don’t mind dying as a failure -- you may. I won’t stop you. But if you hold even a fraction of the rebellious spirit that led to your Persona, then I think that you might accept my offer.”

“Fuck you,” Goro said. Despite himself all the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. “ _Fuck_ you, I don’t --”

His words caught in his throat.

The man had begun smiling again, only this time Goro _recognized_ it, too many teeth and not enough charm, with that same stupid dimple on the side that Goro’d never been able to force out no matter how hard he’d tried. It was not just a similar face to one Goro made, it was exactly the same, and suddenly Goro’s eyes were catching on the man’s jawline, the color of his eyes, the length of his ponytailed hair. “Who --” Goro said, slowly, “Who are you?”

The man reached up, and took off his mask, and continued to smile with Goro’s ugly mouth. “I am Philemon,” said Goro’s perfect mirror image, “And I am thou, as thou art I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the first multichap i've written in *checks watch* over ten years and to absolutely no one's surprise it's bc of my darling terrible boy. happy birthday goro, enjoy (?) your second lease on life.
> 
> some notes:  
> -those of you here for akeshu: i'm sorry but this is absolutely going to be the slowest of burns. they'll get there! it's just going to take them a very long time.  
> -character + pairing tags extend only up to chapter one. there's absolutely going to be more added in the future.  
> -i'm a slow writer.... updates will come but they will be slow, i'll do my best to try and get them up in time!
> 
> catch me on twit @yuunamakis for my writing, or on @hirokiyuus if you're interesting in just chatting. comments and kudos are always appreciated! <3
> 
> EDIT: thanks to apple for the new chap summary


	2. chapter one: i don't care to live the life i've chosen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle is fought, a series of decisions are made, and Akechi Goro has a delicious cup of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from msi's [bed of roses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OHVG5C1TbMs).
> 
> thanks to alm for the beta as always and **please mind the change in tags!**

Thirty-seven minutes after he’d seen that butterfly, Goro emerged into the bright light just outside the Diet Building. Compared to the shrine tucked away in that starscape, the whole thing looked cheap and tawdry, an imitation that could never hope to surpass the real thing. Goro checked carefully for passerby, before he raised his phone to his lips and spoke: “Shido Masayoshi. Diet Building. Ship.”

The Metaverse rippled into place around him. He felt Loki stir in his mind as it did, felt chains wind their way up his body, felt his helmet settle on his head -- only it wasn’t quite right, one eye exposed to the bright sun. He reached up, pressed a finger to the edge of it. It was still broken from his fight with the Thieves.

His mouth twisted, but when he reached inside himself he could feel his magic still resting deep within him. At least the damage seemed to be merely cosmetic. Annoying but survivable, like so many things in Goro’s life.

At least it was easy to make his way through the ship proper. Its familiarity was a cold comfort: he’d prowled these halls before, a day and a lifetime ago, and knew the guard rotations like the back of his hand. Though he’d never bothered trying to get ahold of the letters of introduction before, he knew who held them, and so it was with confidence that he slipped into the restaurant, pausing only to let Robin Hood step forward and change him into a brilliant white prince.

(This mask, at least, remained undamaged.)

Ooe’s Shadow was exactly where Goro thought he’d be, smack in the center at his usual table and halfway through some dish that likely cost more than Goro made in a week. Goro slid into the seat across from him and smiled, pleasantly. “Ooe-san?” he said, using his best Detective Prince voice. “I’m terribly sorry to intrude during your meal, but I’ve been hoping to speak to you for a while. Your policies regarding the increased tax on public transportation were a brilliant idea.”

“What a flatterer.” The Shadow looked amused, despite his caustic tone. “Aren’t you a little young to be thinking about politics?”

Goro laughed. It sounded plastic to his own ears, but hopefully Ooe wouldn’t notice. “To be honest, they never used to interest me. But after the influx of the homeless taking up residence in the subways --” because Shido and his ilk had recently seen fit to apply additional restrictions to welfare applications in order to line their own pockets, but who was counting -- “I’ve come to realize the importance of not allowing them to be given any quarter. The concept you put forth of bringing deterrent architecture into the areas prior to the turnstiles would do quite a lot in that manner, I think. It was quite impressive.”

Ooe leaned back in his chair, grinning a wide toothy smile. “Well, you’re much smarter than you look, aren’t you?”

Goro tilted his head demurely and felt grateful for the mask covering the twitch of his eyebrows. “Thank you, Ooe-san,” he said. “I know I’m probably not as well-read as others are on the matter, but I’d like to think I’ve learned a few things in the past year.”

Ooe’s grin widened. “You know a lot more than the other brats your age, I’ll give you that. Can you believe the number of people trying to get us to _help_ those assholes? Ha! If they worked half as hard as I did, they wouldn’t need it.”

“I concur,” Goro said, as if his mother hadn’t worked two minimum wage jobs around the clock in a desperate bid to keep both of them fed. Under the table his hand was flexing around the grip of his sword. “People these days seem to want everything handed to them on a silver platter.”

“They do!” Ooe smacked a hand down on the table hard enough that the wine in his glass splashed over the edge, spilling onto the white tablecloth. “They’re just begging for handouts! No one’s willing to put in the work that needs to be done for their own success. People like you and me are becoming a rarity in society these days.”

And there it was, the opening Goro had been hoping for. “Actually, Ooe-san, that reminds me. While I was looking through the news sites, I noticed another name that popped up in conjunction with a few similar policies. A Shido Masayoshi-san?” The name tasted bitter in his mouth, but he didn’t let his genial expression falter. “Would you know how one might get ahold of him?

Ooe’s smile was probably meant to be warm and paternalistic. Mostly it left a slimy feeling on Goro’s skin. “In fact I would.” He patted his chest. “You’ll need five letters of recommendation -- I’ve got one right here.”

“Really!” Goro said, faking a pleasant surprise. “Would you be willing to lend it to me?”

Ooe eyed him over, but he was still smiling that same condescending grin. “As a matter of fact, I think I would. A kid like you has got a bright future ahead of him, if he plays his cards right. Just don’t forget your old friend Ooe when you’re standing at the top, alright?”

“I won’t,” Goro said, smiling triumphantly, and for the first time since the start of this stupid conversation the expression was honest. All the tabs he’d kept on all Shido’s contacts were paying off. He watched Ooe’s hand inch closer and closer to his pocket -- and then it stopped, as someone called out from behind them.

“Ooe-san?” said a voice that perfectly matched Goro’s own. “Ooe-san, is that you?”

His breath stopped in his chest. A hand fluttered to his shoulder, gloved and far too familiar. “What a surprise!” that voice said, pleasantly empty. Goro twisted his neck just so and met blank brown eyes staring down at him. The cognition smiled in acknowledgement, tilted his head, and said, “Aren’t you supposed to be in school today, not sneaking through our Lord’s ship like some rat?”

If he smiled he might be able to fake his way through this. If he fluttered his eyelashes, if he laughed politely, if he tugged at his gloves sheepishly, he might be able to get through this without setting off any alarms -- but to look at the thing in front of him was to stare his own humiliating defeat once more in the face, and Goro could not help his sneer as their eyes met. “I suppose you would know all about being a rat.”

The cognition’s mouth twisted into a sneer that mirrored Goro's in everything but size, the expression sitting just large enough on its face that it no longer looked entirely human. “As if you’re any better, you worthless piece of shit,” it said, tilting its head back to down at Goro from over its nose. “I heard you scurrying around, chewing at the woodwork. Crawling through the vents like the garbage you are is one thing, but _this_ is inexcusable.”

The cognition raised a hand and Goro flung himself from his chair, already pulling Loki to the front of his mind -- but rather than hit Goro it had reached for Ooe, who only had a moment for his eyes to go wide before suddenly there was a strange crackling aura all around him. His head flung back as his neck grew, suddenly, longer and longer and longer and as Goro watched a second head sprouted, and then a third and on and on until seven pairs of bright yellow eyes stared at him, each placed in an identical serpentine face.

“Chew him up,” the cognition spat, grin wide and mad on its face. “I’ll be back to scrape up the leftovers.”

Goro barely noticed it fading into the background as the Shadow slithered forward, faster than anything Goro was used to and spitting mad, more unpredictable than even the creatures whose hearts he so often broke. One head lunged forward, teeth snapping wildly, and Goro only barely managed to duck underneath, catching the underside of its jaw with his blade. It howled, seven wailing inharmonious notes, and then from each open mouth came a shimmer as icicle after icicle materialized in midair.

Goro pulled back just enough to brace himself but the ice was so cold it burnt through the fabric on his arms. He hissed, but the real problem was the patches of frozen ice that had missed him and now littered the ground, just clear enough that Goro needed to squint in order to see them -- but with the way the Shadow’s head was already rearing back for another attack, he wasn’t sure he had the time to look.

He clicked his tongue and threw himself forward, head ducked, raising a hand to try and burn a line of curse damage down the bastard’s neck. It was even weaker than he’d feared it’d be, and rather than rearing back in pain as Goro had expected, it barely recoiled before smashing its weight down on his body.

He took the hit and let himself skid to the side, using the momentum of it to try to get some distance. Even as he tumbled he pushed Loki forward, his Persona slashing wildly with a Negative Pile -- but even as it wailed in pain, the creature’s eyes remained bright, movements unhindered.

One of its other heads spat again and an icicle whipped through the air towards Goro. He tried to push himself up out of the way but his hand slipped on the frost-covered ground and the magic caught him hard in the side. He couldn’t help the noise that burst from him there, high-pitched and shaking, and the Shadow stalked forward with triumph gleaming in its eyes.

 _I can’t come for you again._ The voice that rang through Goro’s mind was both his own and nothing like his at all, and like that the glass cage around his anger shattered. Loki burst from him once more, only this time his fingers wrapped not around the Shadow or his sword but around Goro’s heart itself, and as every chain binding him snapped all Goro could feel was a blinding awful rage -- towards himself, towards Shido, towards Philemon, and most of all towards the thing in front of him that was turning him into this fucking embarrassment.

This time when he reached out the clawed tips of his gloves dug into the ice and allowed him to pull himself to his feet. For a moment he was open to the Shadow -- or so it seemed, but when it dove in with a terrible shriek Loki flung himself forward once more, blazing with terrible power, and swung.

A green head fell to the ground at Goro’s feet. He kicked it aside as he readied his own sword, and then he sprung forward, darting off the ice onto solid ground as he lunged wildly. His attack connected, piercing through one long neck. Another mouth lunged for Goro but again Loki caught it on his sword, slicing the bottom of the jaw off neatly.

The Shadow reared back, its remaining mouths glimmering, but Goro had had _enough_. He reached down into himself to the bottom of his soul and grasped at the thing that rested there, that blinding white magic that no one was ever capable of standing up against, and he flung it from himself in a wide vicious arc -- and with that, the Shadow let out some terrible inhuman screech, heads shrivelling up and retreating back into the body until only one was left, scales tinkling to the ground. “Fuck,” Ooe said, breathing hard, blinking too rapidly, eyes bloodshot around the yellow of his irises. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

Goro took a step forward but his legs gave out underneath him, body shaking under the strain of his power. Before his eyes Ooe spun on his heel and burst from the room, as Goro could only sit and watch. “Get back here you _son of a bitch_ \--” he shouted at an already closing door, and the snarl that burst out of him in the ensuing silence burnt his throat.

He tried to stand but stumbled again, and as he lurched forward he beat an aching fist hard against the ground. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed between clenched teeth, and smashed his hand down once more. The clawed tips of his gloves dig into his palms and left bloody smears on the carpet, impossibly red despite the dim light. “ _Fuck!_ ”

His vision felt blurry, chest alight once more, and before he he even realized he’d moved he had a palm pressed flat and shaking to the place on his chest there had once been a hole. He felt nothing; when he looked there was no blood. _Worthless piece of shit_ , he thought, his own voice layered double with that fucking puppet’s --

His eyes darted around the room, but it was empty. All the ordinary cognitions had vanished when Ooe’s Shadow had begun its rampage and the other Shadows that had come to lurk in Shido’s Palace were nowhere to be seen. Yet despite the room’s silence his ears were wide open, and it was with no small amount of wariness that he pulled himself off the floor.

He slipped from the ship slowly, carefully, clinging to shadows of the mundane variety and listening hard for the sound of familiar loafers. By the time he stumbled out of the Metaverse it was mid-afternoon, the sunlight bright and cheerful on his face. He grit his teeth against the mockery of his failure and thought only of wrapping his hands around his own fucking throat.

* * *

 

On the third day after his miraculous return to life, Akechi Goro rolled over on his side and considered, for the first time since his miserable failure, getting out of bed. He hadn’t meant to lay here so long, but somehow after he’d gotten home he’d slipped into his futon and just… hadn’t moved since.

Still, his hair was clinging greasily to the side of his face and his stomach was finally starting to complain about its perpetual emptiness; his head was aching from dehydration. All the same the thought of moving made him want to close his eyes and curl back up, pretending he’d never woken in the first place.

He’d been thinking since he got back, long and hard, tossing all sorts of plans around in his head. He could go back to the ship and try again -- only he’d been felled by his double twice already, and the thought of his own empty face made his breath come in short unsteady pants. He could give up and buy himself a ticket to Aokigahara -- only then Shido would go unchecked, as without Goro there was no guarantee the Phantom Thieves would target him again. Philemon would be no help, and -- if Philemon were to be trusted -- neither would Igor. And of course it wasn’t that he trusted Philemon, but he’d thought himself indispensable to Shido, and look where that’d gotten him.

He had no one to rely on and more enemies than he cared to count, and so no matter how many plans he turned over in his head, he kept returning to the same unfortunate conclusion:

He needed the Phantom Thieves on his side.

Even thinking that left a bad taste in his mouth, but when had the truth ever been kind to him? Like it or not, alone he was not enough. A full set of elemental skills -- Oracle’s backup or Joker’s Personas -- even a warm body to trip Ooe as he’d fled -- any one of those things would’ve been enough to turn the tides.

A stranger wouldn’t do, either. He’d considered the idea over in his mind a few times, but even if he found someone he could trust (Ha!), there was no guarantee they’d have the potential to awaken a Persona, and then they’d just be dead weight. At least with the Thieves, he wouldn’t have to worry about that. All he’d have to do was convince them to help him, and he wouldn’t even need all of them to agree -- just Amamiya. If he could wrangle their leader onto his side, the rest would follow. Last time he must've made some misstep to garner their suspicion, but this time around he'd know to be on guard. As long as he didn’t tip his hand too early, there’d be no reason for Amamiya to be suspicious of him, and like that they could pretend to be friends until Goro could get him where he wanted.

Goro had played the long game before, and he could do it again. As long as he managed to bide his time, he could fake supporting Shido even while he ingratiated himself with Amamiya, and in the end he’d use Joker’s help to blaze through that place and stab his blade through that asshole’s Shadow himself.

(And if there was a part of him that was stuck on the thought of being able to sit in Leblanc once more, to speak quietly with Amamiya, to know he was being allowed to stick around not because Amamiya was keeping tabs on him but because he was genuinely _wanted_ \--

(Unbidden Oracle’s voice rang through Goro’s head: _It’s not too late to start over_. He squashed the memory down ruthlessly inside of him. What a fucking joke. This wasn’t a second chance, this wasn’t a redemption, this was Goro playing the only card left in his hand in a desperate bid to take Shido down with him before he had to fold.)

His hands clenched on his quilt, spasming just the slightest bit. He could do this. No matter the cost, no matter how what it took, he could pull this off. He could. He _could_.

He sat up and flung his blanket to the side; his clothes were left in a line on the floor behind him as he strode to the shower. Even as he scrubbed harshly at his hair he thought of the thousand things he had to do: contact Shido, call his school, figure out what cases he was supposed to be working on then, check for TV appearances, see whether he was needed at the precinct, make sure he had the list of his targets -- and for a moment his hands faltered, the future staring back at him like an awful endless void.

He might’ve stood there for a minute or an hour, caught up in the bleak nothingness that was the passage of time. He didn’t know. Water beat against his skin, and yet regardless of the suffocating dampness, Akechi Goro continued to breathe.

 

* * *

 

Despite his resolutions it had taken him a few days to get to Yongen. First he’d had to make all the necessary calls to explain his impromptu absence, brushing off his sudden disappearance as a case of food poisoning, and then he’d had to show his face at both school and the precinct. There’d been a minor TV appearance, too, which had drained him entirely for that whole day.

(And hadn’t that been such an experience? Before he’d always found it amusing, “explaining” the psychotic incidents when he’d known the truth of them, but knowing Shido’d been laughing at him just the same in the months before his death -- well. He’d smiled his way through the interview somehow but after he’d been so tired that afterwards he’d crawled into bed and hadn’t managed to get back out.)

But he’d made it eventually, crammed himself into the subway and dodged the fan who’d tried to flag him down. The sun was just beginning to dip into late afternoon by the time he turned down the side street and found himself slowing as the cafe came into view.

For a moment, Goro couldn’t help but stare at the door to Leblanc. He’d thought, before, that he’d never be able to come back here. The Thieves would know he’d sold them out and never forgive him, and with their leader dead there’d been no justification for his return besides. To find himself at this place again left a strange feeling in his stomach, one he couldn't quite name.

When he finally stepped inside he found his feet freezing once more beneath him. The cafe smelled just the same as ever, that strangely comforting mix of coffee and spices; all the eternally worn-down furniture just where it’d been the last time he’d come by. Sakura Sojiro stood behind the counter with a newspaper in hand, barely bothering to look up as the bell over the door rang. “Welcome,” he said. “Sit anywhere.”

Goro moved to his usual spot. Near the door, front and center, he’d chosen it that first time under the assumption that Amamiya wouldn’t be able to ignore him if he sat there. Hopefully it’d serve that same purpose once more.

“What can I get you?” At some point Sakura’d folded away the newspaper. He looked at Goro without even the faintest spark of recognition.

A month and a lifetime ago he wouldn’t have even had to say it. “A cup of the house blend, please.” The first time around he’d made some quip about judging a coffee shop by its special, baiting Sakura into a friendly rapport that had validated his continuing presence at Leblanc. It would be prudent to try that again, but for some reason Goro couldn’t make the words come to his mouth. In silence he watched Sakura fussed over the machine.

Eventually he finished, depositing the cup in front of Goro. “Enjoy.” Goro lifted it up and took a sip, and at the first taste he felt some of the tension slip from his shoulders. His sigh of relief was inaudible, and sent tiny waves rippling across the surface of the drink.

“That good, huh?” Sakura’s voice had a hint of smugness.

Goro’s lips curved up from where they were still pressed against the porcelain rim. “I haven’t had such a delicious cup of coffee in….” Weeks? Or a lifetime? How was one supposed to quantify the series of ridiculous events that Goro’s life had become since that moment in the interrogation room when he’d looked down at Amamiya’s unseeing eyes?

“Glad to hear it,” Sakura said, smiling. “Let me know if you want a refill, alright?”

Goro nodded and smiled back before lifting his cup once more as he closed his eyes. There was a rustling in front of him as Sakura opened the newspaper again, and for a while things were just… quiet. It was a strange and uncomplicated silence. Goro’s apartment had been empty, yes, but those long hours spent huddled away had been filled with the whirring of his own brain as it tried to process everything that had led him to that moment.

Here, though, everything seemed to fade. The rustling of the newspaper, the tinny voices from the television in the corner, the faint bubbling of the curry in its pot -- all these ambient sounds came together to make a white noise that finally drowned out the mess in his head. He sat, and drank his coffee, and for the first time since seeing that universe of endless stars he felt like he could breathe.

And then the bell rang as the door opened. “Welcome back,” Sakura said, a little flatly, and as he did Goro’s heart sped up triple time even as he tried to keep his calm. It was alright, he’d prepared for this, he had a plan, he knew what he was doing. He took a silent breath, placed his cup down, turned his head and --

For a moment it was as if nothing had ever changed. For a moment it could’ve been any early October evening, Goro at the counter as Amamiya walked through the door, both of them pretending to be ordinary teenagers. For a moment everything was as it always was, and then in the next moment Goro looked once more at Amamiya’s face.

He was frowning.

Goro ‘s breath caught in his throat. To someone who had never known Amamiya’s previous cool neutrality his expression might’ve seemed merely impassive, but Goro could see the tiny pinched muscles on either side of Amamiya’s mouth. For the first time in Goro’s memory Amamiya was not a cypher given flesh. For the first time before him Amamiya was unmasked.

It made something odd bubble up in him, made his mouth go a little dry. He’d known, of course, that Amamiya had always been hiding himself, but it was not until this moment that he realized the extent of it. And of course this wasn’t honesty, not with half of Amamiya’s face still hidden behind those glasses, but it was the closest thing Goro had ever seen and it shook something down to Goro’s core.

“Hey.”

Goro blinked and realized too late he’d been staring. Amamiya was looking back at him -- and this was new too, the tilt of his lips and that unnameable edge to his smirk. “Hello,” Goro said automatically, letting a smile shutter closed across his face and trying to tilt his head so his hair covered his heating ears.

“Come here often?”

That heat crawled its way down Goro’s face, a situation that wasn’t helped by Sakura’s snort from behind the counter. “He’s not a regular, and he won’t be if you keep pestering him.” That was new too, the derision in Sakura’s voice when he spoke to Amamiya, and it made the grin vanish from Amamiya’s lips as if it’d never existed. “Now get upstairs and stop bothering the customers.”

“Roger that,” Amamiya said, voice flat.

He turned and it was only at the sight of his back that Goro found his voice again. “Oh, he’s no bother.” Amamiya stopped, and so Goro swung his head back to Sakura, smiling politely. “I’m just not used to being approached by boys my own age.”

Sakura raised an eyebrow. “Used to other people doing it, then?”

Goro laughed, the perfect picture of sheepishness. “Sometimes,” he said. “I’ve had a few guest appearances on a TV show or two, so….”

“Doing what?”

Goro didn’t jump but it was a close thing. Apparently, Amamiya’s ability to move silently hadn’t been a side effect of the Metaverse. He was leaning against the counter to Goro’s side, a lock of hair twirled around his finger. Goro managed another smile and answered, “I’m a detective, actually.”

Amamiya’s finger froze mid-twirl. “Are you,” he said, voice neutral, grin shrinking a millimeter.

“Yes,” Goro said, pretending not to notice. “I’m good PR for the department, so whenever there’s any major incidents that the media wants to cover, they usually send me out to handle it.”

He’d expected some kind of retort from Amamiya, but it was Sakura’s voice that cut through the air. “They just throw a kid like you to the wolves like that?” His mouth was puckered; the look he gave Goro was considering and heavy.

It was… unexpected, to say the least. For all the time he’d spent in Leblanc before, most of his conversations with Sakura had been idle chatter, comments about the coffee or the weather. The line between his eyebrows was a foreign thing. “It pays the bills,” Goro said, and in his moment of uncertainty his voice had come out flatter than he’d intended, with none of the joking he’d meant for it to hold.

He tried to smile charmingly, but the damage was clearly done, Sakura still frowning at him. Goro lifted his coffee in preemptive defense. “You’re a little young to be worrying about that,” Sakura said. “Isn’t anyone taking care of you?”

The cup paused on Goro’s lips; he couldn’t force his mouth open to take a drink. One, two, three seconds, and then he lowered his coffee, only when he was certain his face wouldn’t betray him. “I do perfectly fine on my own,” he said, and even managed a smile.

“Hm. If you say so.” Sakura didn’t sound too impressed. “Still, if you ever need a place to relax, feel free to drop by. Leblanc’s a little off the beaten path, so you’ll be away from the media circus, at least.”

Goro lifted his cup again, just to have something to do with his hands. “Thank you.” Without quite meaning too he found his eyes sliding to Amamiya, still standing at his side. His expression was placid and a little calculating, the way Goro was most familiar with, but when their eyes met something about it softened.

Abruptly Goro could no longer stand it. This was good, this was good, everything was off to a perfect start, and yet to see those eyes staring at him like that -- Goro swallowed his coffee, let the last dregs of it pass over his tongue, and when he put it down the clink of glass on platter sounded too loud. “I’m afraid I can’t stay any longer today, though,” he said.

He ducked his head down to his bag and rummaged for his wallet, gloved hands catching on the latches. “Alright,” Sakura said, as Goro shook out a few coins, counting the exact change. “But don’t forget, okay? You’re welcome anytime.”

“I --” Goro’s breath caught in his throat. Amamiya was still _looking_ at him, open and with that strange gentle edge. “I won’t,” he said, and his voice sounded shaky even to his own ears. “I’ll be back.”

Sojiro nodded as Goro placed his money on the counter, before picking up Goro’s cup and turning to the sink. For his part, Goro used the moment he leaned back down to get his things as an excuse to break eye contact with Amamiya, standing as he did before making his way to the exit.

“Hey.” Amamiya’s voice floated through the air, and Goro paused at the door to glance over his shoulder. Amamiya was still leaning against the counter. From this distance Goro couldn’t make out his eyes behind his glasses. “What’s your name?”

Goro’s lips parted, stupidly and silently. He hated how blindsided he felt. What had he even fucking expected? This Amamiya didn’t know who he was. This Amamiya had never so much as seen his face. All those long months, all that time spent here -- all of it had turned to dust in his hands. “Akechi Goro,” he said, and felt his smile twist into something less than perfect on his face. “And you?”

“Amamiya Ren.” For a moment they looked at each other, and then Amamiya grinned again, raising a hand to tap a two-fingered salute against the side of his head as he said, “See you around, detective.”

Goro laughed, a half-breath that sighed out of his body. “Until then,” he replied, and walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goro: this isn't a redemption or a second chance  
> me: honey u got a big storm coming
> 
> as usual catch me on twit @yuunamakis or @hirokiyuus or on tumblr @hirokiyuu if you wanna chat!


	3. chapter two: the kind you'll find fisticuffin' in the dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several plans continue to move along. Akechi Goro has some sushi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always thanks to alm for the beta, and thanks to apple for the final readthru!
> 
> chapter title bastardized slightly from mother mother's [dread in my heart](http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGJdYxjkVBU).
> 
> EDIT: and huge huge thank you to asa for helping me figure out how to format the texts!!!

“You look tired.”

Goro startled at the sound of Sae’s voice. He’d thought she was absorbed in poking at the menu screen for their specials; he’d been watching the conveyor belt loop endlessly and had forgotten to watch his expression. “Do I?” he said, smiling as he tilted his head back to Sae. The stare she had fixed on him was piercing, but it was not quite as sharp as the looks she had had in the past few months -- or rather, the months that had never come to pass.

“You do,” she said. “Has something come up at work? Or school?” The menu gave a cheery ding, the screen announcing the imminent arrival of their order. Even as she lifted the plate of fatty tuna off the belt she didn’t break eye contact, placing it down in front of him. “Eat.”

He lifted his chopsticks but didn’t touch his food quite yet. “Nothing in particular,” he said, staring down at the dish -- his third favorite, and the kind he always ordered whenever Sae was paying. “Things have been a little busy lately, I suppose.”

“You’re not eating.” Goro dutifully lifted a piece of sushi and placed it in his mouth. Sae flashed him a little smile, sharp but not unfriendly, and then took a plate of yellowtail for herself. “Things are always busy,” she said. “What’s changed?”

Goro swallowed and smiled back, closed mouth. “I didn’t realize you invited me out for a cross-examination.”

“It’s nothing so serious,” Sae said. Her stoicism had returned everywhere except the tilt of her eyes. “I’m just not used to seeing you scowl in public.” She reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear before taking a bite of her own sushi, even as Goro berated himself internally. What good were his plans if he was letting himself slip up where anyone could see?

“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” he said, forcing his voice even, and then because even he could hear how flimsy that excuse was -- “I met someone recently.”

Her eyebrows shot all the way up her forehead. She seemed to need an extra minute to swallow her food. “Did you,” she said, eventually, before reaching for her tea and taking a long slow sip. “I see.”

His ears went hot immediately. “N-nothing like that.” Belatedly he noticed he’d been fiddling with his napkin and immediately stopped. “This person is simply… one who challenges my views on several things.”

“Oh?” Sae said. She looked less panicked but still interested, eyebrows retreating down only partially. “And yet you’re still spending time with them?”

“I’m not _that_ much of a sore loser,” Goro said. He couldn’t quite help the mild amusement in his voice. Their shared desire for victory was one of the reasons they got along, after all. “Besides, a good opponent can force you to consider all sides of an issue, allowing you to firm up on your defenses.”

“That’s true,” Sae said as she smiled again. It was that same sharp thing from before, but this time it faded a little more quickly. “Still.” She considered him. “You’re not normally this worn out. I’m not looking to question your abilities, but it might be a good idea to step back and reevaluate the situation.”

“It’s fine,” Goro said, mildly, carefully not letting any annoyance bleed through as he took his tea cup in his hands. “I have the feeling this is an investment that’ll pay off in the end.”

“Alright,” Sae said, and then that was that, the topic shifting towards their shared work as she asked an opinion about a case that had recently caught her eye. It was one of the things about her he’d always appreciated, that willingness to believe in his competency. While he didn’t quite consider her a friend, he overall found her company much more tolerable than that of most people he generally found himself spending time with.

It had been a shame, when her Palace had begun to develop. Her hyperfocus on work had begun to dig into every aspect of her life as time had passed, culminating in that grand casino that felt distant in the restaurant’s slightly too cold air. Her smiles had grown colder and fewer; he’d knocked on her door once or twice to see if she’d like to go out and she’d waved him away, scowling down at the papers on her desk.

Perhaps now there would be no need for it. After all, Sae’s Palace had been a situation exacerbated by Shido’s associates in order to create a situation in which they could capture the Phantom Thieves. Her Shadow had always been a little volatile, true, but it wasn’t until planning for the end of things had begun in earnest that her Shadow had left Mementos to build itself a new home. If Goro knocked Shido out of the way early enough, there’d be no need for it, would there?

No, Goro decided, taking another bite of his food and chewing carefully, there wouldn’t be. No need at all. And thinking as he was, mind far away even as they spoke, Goro did not notice the way Sae’s eyes tracked every movement he made with a watchfulness she had never displayed before.

* * *

Akiyama Ichirou was a thirty-nine year old civil servant, born in Okayama, currently living in Ogikubo. He was utterly unremarkable except for his constant pushback against the digitization of files. For most of his coworkers this was a mild annoyance. For someone looking to hack into those files in order to skew numbers just enough in their own favor, it was a major hassle, especially considering that with his good record he seemed unlikely to be vacating his position anytime soon.

It was so petty, Goro thought, the things people would kill each other over.

He’d gotten this assignment in person, just yesterday. “ _We don’t need anything flashy here,_ ” Shido had said, sliding a thin manila file across his desk. “ _Just get him out of the picture_.” That had been the first thing he’d said to Goro in person since everything had begun anew, and though they’d spoken on the phone before, it was nothing compared to seeing that bastard’s smug face. Staring at his blank apartment walls Goro had managed to keep his head above water, but watching Shido’s lips move, seeing the sneer that Shido put only the barest effort into, as if Goro was not even worth his condescension, as if Goro was less than even dirt ground into his hideous carpet -- Goro found his lungs filling with water.

And yet somehow he’d fixed his smile in place and didn’t allow himself the luxury of flinching. “ _Of course, sir_ ,” he’d heard his own voice say, muffled and distant. “ _It’ll be dealt with soon._ ”

“ _See that it is._ ” Shido’d turned then, staring out at the skyline from his window, and for one wild moment Goro considered just running straight at him and pushing -- but no, if he did that, he’d just be the madman who murdered such a promising politician. There’d be no humiliation in it at all. There’d be no _justice_.

Goro hadn’t bothered to respond; he knew a dismissal when he saw it. He’d left the room in silence, smiled politely and vacantly all the way home til he got back and could shove his mouth into his hands and scream. He was going to kill Shido, he was going to lay all that bastard’s faults on him and make him look Goro in the eye and acknowledge him and then he was going to rip that piece of shit _limb from fucking limb_ \--

But he couldn’t get impatient yet, he reminded himself. That dream was just a little out of reach for now. He could get there in the end, but he had to be patient, he had to wait, no matter the cost. And if that left him here, slinking through Mementos to do Shido’s dirty work -- well. The long game, and all. He made his way to a dead-end, cleared away the nearby Shadows, and then steadied his shaking hands before calling out: “Akiyama Ichirou!”

Two yellow pinpricks shone in the dark, before the rest of the Shadow’s face materialized around them. He was tall and thin, with a young-looking face that twisted nervously as his eyes darted to and from Goro. “W-What do you want from me?” he said, voice already shaking. “Who are you?”

Shadows had always come when Goro called. Before meeting the Thieves, it was a thing he’d thought universal -- and perhaps it was, but because of their navigator they’d always been able to find Shadows in the depths, never needed to search blindly as Goro had. He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if it mattered. The end result was the same.

Goro drew his sword. “I think you already know what I want,” he said, and then he darted in.

As he moved it shed its regular form in favor of some enormous six-armed creature standing on two legs and only vaguely humanoid. Goro didn’t hesitate, ducking under the half-formed claw that swiped at him, thrusting his sword up as he moved. The thing shrieked and Goro swiped its legs out from under it, driving his blade into one of its hands before it could try to drag him down with it. It shrieked again but Goro already had his gun out, and he drew back before filling the thing with bullets.

Each wound made it scream louder and louder, and as it did flecks of darkness peeled away from the bullet holes, fluttering off into the darkness until the only thing left was the figure it had sprouted from, still prone on the floor. Goro strode over to it; it wept great fat tears as it watched him approach. “Please,” it said, snot dripping down its chin. “Please don’t do this.”

How pathetic. Goro raised his gun, pointed it at the Shadow’s forehead, and as it whimpered Goro’s finger -- hesitated.

This had been so much easier, before. Goal in mind and assured of his worth, he’d understood the necessity of death. Enjoyed it, even, in some fucked up way -- knowing he’d been throwing himself down a path he couldn’t ever escape from all for that end goal that no one else would have ever guessed he’d be able to reach.

(And if sometimes afterwards he stood in the shower for hours on end, listening to the beating of water against the tile, breathing in steam and letting water drip from his eyelashes -- well. Shido was the one paying all his fucking bills, so who cared?)

But there was no joy to be gained from this, not anymore. Not when he and Akiyama were a pair of pawns in the same game. Goro stared down at the figure underneath him. Was there any difference between them?

For a moment Goro saw his own face staring back up at him, snot-covered and ruddy, and in the next his finger was tightening on the trigger -- once, twice, thrice, and the Shadow screamed even as it devolved into nothing. The last flecks of it weren’t quite fully vanished when Goro turned and vomited, bile scraping hot on his throat.

God, he didn’t have the _time_ for this. There was still another target to take care of today, one more shutdown that needed doing, and if this was going to be his fucking reaction after that too he wouldn’t make it back out of Mementos in time to report in to Shido about his progress. This was a childish delay he couldn’t afford.

He reached past his mask, wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, forced his back straight again. And if his voice sounded hoarse when he called out the name of his next target, well -- there was no one around to hear.

* * *

 Two days later found the door to Leblanc swinging open at his touch. “Welcome,” Sakura called, and then he looked up and his face relaxed into a smile. “Or I guess I should say welcome back, huh?”

Goro laughed as he stepped inside, and it even sounded mostly real. He’d spent a day at school, a day at work, and his mask had almost completely made its way back onto his face in that time. “The usual?” Sakura asked, already turning back to the coffee maker. Goro made a noise of assent and the machines started up. “How was school?”

“It was fine,” Goro said, making himself comfortable as he dug through his bag for his things. “Though I was only there for the morning today. They ended up needing me down at the precinct in the afternoon -- I actually just came from there.”

“Hm,” Sakura said, frowning as he placed Goro’s cup down. “Well, make sure your police business isn’t interfering with your schoolwork, alright? Your education’s important.”

“Of course,” Goro says, tugging the cup closer to himself before tapping a hand on the papers he’d already pulled out. “This is all for school, actually.”

Sakura gave an approving nod, his frown lessening. “Good,” he said, turning back to the row of coffee pots. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Of course,” Goro said, but in lieu of starting on tomorrow’s calculus, he found himself watching Sakura work behind the counter. Leblanc was objectively nothing special and yet Goro couldn’t tear his eyes away from the ease with which Sakura moved inside it. Shido could only ever hope to be half as comfortable in the Diet as Sakura was here.

“You must be a good father,” Goro murmured, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he even realized he was speaking. Sakura turned his head back to look at him, eyebrows raised even as Goro felt his face flush. “A-ah, not that I mean anything strange by that. It’s just… your daughter must be very lucky.”

The surprise on his face became touched with just the slightest bit of wariness. “How’d you hear about that?” he asked, turning to face Goro in earnest. “The kid doesn’t know her, and it’s not like she comes over here.”

“Ah--” Goro said, like the idiot he was, even as he scrambled wildly for an excuse. “Another customer asked if we were friends, when you had to step out last week.” Not too much detail, that would make the lie more obvious, and tack on an unassuming smile for good measure before diverting the conversation. “I was surprised I’d never seen her here before.”

Sakura eyed him over a second longer before relaxing a little, leaning against the back wall. “She doesn’t get out much,” he said, his voice a little bit softer than Goro was used to, before his demeanor firmed back up. “Listen, Akechi, you’re a good kid, but my daughter doesn’t need any more stress in her life, so keep this under your belt, okay? Definitely _don’t_ mention it to the kid. I know you’re friends, but the last thing I need is Futaba getting wrapped up in a delinquent’s business.”

“I understand,” Goro said, mildly. “I won’t mention it again.”

Sakura nodded, straightened up. “Good,” he said. “Like I said, you’re a good kid, but the situation’s complicated, okay? And the kid’s….” Sakura reached up, scrubbed a hand through his hair. “He’s not that bad, I guess. But don’t tell him I said that either!”

Goro laughed, and this time his voice came out easier. “I won’t.”

“It’s just complicated.” Sakura sighed, deeply, before turning back to coffee lining the back walls. “But thanks for the compliment, kid.”

_A good father_. The stupidest, most unnecessary thing Goro could’ve possibly said. “It’s just the truth.”

Sakura paused again, but before he could say anything the bell at the door jingled and they both turned their heads to see who came in. “Oh, it’s just you,” Sakura said, turning back down to the jars he’d been organizing, but Goro couldn’t look away from Amamiya at the door.  Their eyes met, and like magic the hands clenched on Amamiya’s bag relaxed, the set of his mouth gentled, the hunch of his shoulders faded just slightly. Amamiya saw Goro and against all odds his guard went down instead of up.

They’d been talking since that first day, in the three or four times that Goro had made it back here. Not much -- there was a part of Goro that still wanted to run every time their eyes met, and he’d found himself succumbing to that urge more than he’d planned. But that wasn’t conductive to Goro’s future, now was it, and so he was determined to stay here tonight no matter the cost.

He pasted a smile onto his face. “You’re back late,” he said, twisting in his chair as Amamiya approached. “Long day?”

Amamiya gave a little half shrug, hands shoved in his pockets. “Didn’t realize you were waiting up,” he said, grinning down at Goro. “I would’ve come by earlier.”

Of course that sent heat creeping over Goro’s face. He laughed a little in the hopes that Amamiya wouldn’t notice his blush. “Well, if you’re free now, I’ve got some time. It seems like I always have to leave right as you come home.”

Amamiya’s grin grew. “Good to hear,” he said, head tilting. “Keep running off and I’m gonna worry I’m scaring you away.” That was far closer to the truth than Goro wanted it to be, but before he could think of an appropriately soothing response Amamiya added, “Or maybe you’re just intimidated by my good looks.”

Behind the counter, Sakura snorted. Goro raised his eyebrow. “You’re quite a joker, aren’t you,” he said, unable to help himself.

There wasn’t time for Amamiya to respond before a familiar dark head was shooting up out of his bag. “ _What_ did that guy just call you?!” Morgana yelped, eyes wide, and Goro couldn’t help the breath he sucked in as the sight of the cat. Knowing that he’d gone back to when Philemon had gave Amamiya his powers was one thing -- seeing the physical proof of Amamiya’s ventures into the Metaverse was something else.

His plans weren’t for nothing, after all. Here was the proof of the chance dangling in front of Goro, if only he had the strength to take it. Here was the light at the end of the awful endless tunnel.

His eyes were dry and he blinked, realizing he must’ve been staring for too long. Still, a little surprise could be reasonable, considering: “You carry a cat around in your bag?”

Amamiya didn’t seem to have noticed anything strange, thankfully. “This is Morgana,” he said, lifting the bag up onto the seat next to Goro. “Say hello.”

“I can’t even tell which one of us you’re talking to,” Morgana said, blinking his big blue eyes up at Goro. An ordinary person probably would’ve found it unfairly cute; as it was, Goro could only barely manage a smile down. “I don’t think this guy likes cats, Ren.”

“He’s quite chatty, isn’t he?” Goro said, mostly to cut Morgana off. If he accidentally responded to him and outed himself that way he’d scream. “I wonder what sort of things he’s saying.”

Amamiya gave a half-shrug, pushed up his glasses. “He’s got a lot of opinions.”

Goro’s laugh surprised even himself. “You’re so --” he started, and then somehow he managed to swallow back the rest of his words.

In some ways the person that Goro knew now was leagues away from the Amamiya who’d watched Goro with wary eyes for months and months, but in other ways he was exactly the same, and in the moments where the two mingled together Goro couldn’t figure out what to do with himself. That kind of joke -- layered in on itself, a little dumb on the surface but extending so much deeper than anyone around them could’ve known -- it could’ve been anything Amamiya said to him before and hearing it made something in Goro’s throat tight.

“I’m so?” Amamiya leaned on the back of the chair where Morgana sat, and let a grin slide back across his face. The expression was barely there and yet it hurt to see all the same. “Charming? Dashing?”

“Impossible,” Goro said, and he meant it in a thousand different ways. He smiled back and felt it sit helplessly crooked on his face, ugly and honest. “You’re absolutely impossible.”

“Guilty as charged,” Amamiya said, after a moment. He’d ducked his head a little, finger twiddling a lock of hair, but his smile had grown on his face and his eyes were still meeting Goro’s.

“Oh my God,” Morgana said, loudly, and they both startled. He jumped out of the bag down to the floor, eyes rolling as he sauntered towards the back of the cafe. “If you’re just going to flirt with this guy, I’m going upstairs.”

“See you later,” Amamiya said, agreeably, and Goro let himself laugh again. Amamiya grinned back before spinning the chair around, but paused before sliding into the seat. “Mind if I join you for a while?”

“Please do,” Goro said, gesturing to the chair. “I’d welcome the company.”

“Don’t forget your work, kid.” Sakura’s sentence was punctuated by the clink of a second cup placed on the counter. He fixed Goro with a stare even as he pushed the cup closer to Amamiya. “Remember what I said about school.”

“I will,” Goro said, smiling back at him before finding his gaze drawn back to Amamiya like a magnet. “Perhaps we could study together?”

“Sounds good to me,” Amamiya said. He pulled his bag closer, grinned at Goro. “Hope you don’t mind the cat fur on my notes, though.”

A laugh bubbled once more from Goro’s mouth. “Honestly,” he said, shaking his head as he watched Amamiya rummage through his things. “How are you even real?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” Amamiya said, pulling out the last of his books. “Though --” and here his grin turned a little sheepish -- “I can’t say math is one. Got any tips?”

“I struggle with it myself, actually,” Goro said, leaning over to tug Amamiya’s notebook open. “There are a few tricks I’ve learned that help with something like this, though….”

He took Amamiya through the explanation, and then as Amamiya continued to struggle through the problem set Goro opened his own books. It was strange how much easier the work seemed to go with another person there. He barely noticed Sakura closing the cafe around them -- it wasn’t until Morgana came padding down the stairs, complaining about hunger, that Goro realized he’d spent much longer than intended.

“I should be going,” he said, closing his notebook and gathering his things. Somehow during this venture he’d managed to not only catch up in his work but jump ahead.  “I’ve still got a few things to sort out before tomorrow, so….”

“Alright,” Amamiya said. He’d begun leaning against the counter in earnest as they’d worked, but he pulled himself up as Goro stood. “Sure you don’t wanna get dinner or anything first? It’s pretty late.”

“It’s fine,” Goro said, smiling back. “But thank you for the offer.”

“No problem.” Amamiya took Goro’s cup and his own in hand, moved to the other side of the counter to deposit them in the sink as Goro walked to the door. “You coming back any time soon?”

“Soon,” Goro said, shifting his weight on his feet as he lingered just inside the entryway. “My schedule makes it hard to know exactly what days will work, but… soon.”

Amamiya nodded, and then there was no more reason to delay. Goro pushed open the door, and left.

* * *

He was halfway home when his phone buzzed. Goro sighed silently and let it sit in his pocket, leaning back just a little in his chair. It could wait until he was home -- but then it buzzed again, and again, and again. Work, then, and with another silent sigh he slid his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it -- and paused, as he took in the unlisted number and the messages he’d received.

**Unknown:** Hello, Mr. Detective.  
**Unknown:** You’re good at sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, aren’t you?  
**Unknown:** Lying, too.

A threat. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and sat up a little in his chair as he typed out a response. It wasn’t as if he’d never gotten something like this before, after all, though usually the other threats he tended to get were generally delivered on paper to the station or to the public use mailbox he’d gotten once his fame started to pick up in earnest. He’d have to change his phone number, wouldn’t he? What a hassle.

**Akechi Goro:** While this vague aura of menace you’ve constructed here is certainly fascinating, I think we’d both benefit if you’d just jump straight to the point.

His message bounced back, an error message on his screen. His lips twisted.This might actually prove to be a problem, then. Someone acquiring his personal information was unpleasant, but the rejection of his messages actually meant they had some skill with computers. Rather than some disgruntled critic who’d managed to convince one of his coworkers to sell them Goro’s number, this was someone who might actually pose a threat.

The messages continued:

**Unknown:** Did you think it would stay a secret?  
**Unknown:** I know you’ve been poking into things at Leblanc.  
**Unknown:** I’d advise you to stay out of it.  
**Unknown:** Before something happens that neither of us like.

Goro paused. Considering the timing, the nature of the threat, and the way his assailant had sought to reach out to him….

**Akechi Goro:** Did you learn all your threats from Featherman, Futaba-san?

There was a moment of silence. Goro looked down at the bounced message popup and couldn’t help a smirk.

**Unknown:**  Who I am doesn't matter.  
**Unknown:** Teh point still stands.  
**Unknown:** I got your number and I can do a lot more than that  
**Unknown:** Keep sticking your fat nose into things and youll regret it!

Goro waited for a moment, but there was nothing else. Eventually, he locked his phone, leaned back against his seat. Honestly, if she was trying to keep him from gaining any interest in her at all, she’d utterly failed. Did she really think Goro _wouldn’t_ launch a counter-investigation after that mess? There had to be _something_ of interest there, what with how hard Sakura and she were both trying to keep him out of things, and though it was likely just related to things with her mother, a deeper look wouldn’t hurt. Complacency was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place after all.

Still, how could he go about this? He was fairly confident she wouldn’t be able to bug his phone without any kind of physical installation, but a remotely-installed location tracker wasn’t out of the question, if he remembered correctly, nor was accessing his search history. Though… Goro glanced back down at his phone.

He highly doubted that her cracking abilities extended to the Nav App.

Luckily for him he was already in the subway. He got off at the next station, locked himself in one of the single stall bathrooms, and tapped that red eye. Mementos swirled into place around him, blue and black accouterments settling on his body as the bathroom grew dark and dingy, tiles cracking, grime sliding across the surface of the mirror. He caught sight of himself in it, just for a moment -- and stared.

The hole in his mask was bigger than he’d realized. He’d thought it’d only framed his eye but in fact it went up past his forehead, and his cheek was completely exposed. Unless…. had it broken even more while he was fighting? The Shadows in Mementos hadn’t touched him, of course, but Ooe’s Shadow had throw him around like a rag doll, that awful first afternoon.

In the mirror he could see his own eye scrunched up in rage, ugly and sneering, and before he even knew what he was doing he lifted his gun and put a bullet in his reflection, watching it shatter and fall in pieces at his feet.

He felt stupid even before the shot finished echoing in the air. What an entirely unproductive thing to do. He turned on his heel and strode out the bathroom door, feeling glass grind to dust under his feet. The Velvet Door glistened in his peripheral vision but he ignored it, jumping the turnstile to dive into the depths of the Metaverse.

Putting a blade into the Shadows crawling through the floors calmed him. It was easy enough and before long he had a space cleared out. He raised his eyes and called out, “Sakura Futaba!” There was no movement. He waited a beat and then tried once more: “Isshiki Futaba!”

Still nothing. There were only two reasons she wasn’t coming, then: either she had a Persona, which would render her Shadow inaccessible, or she had a Palace, which meant her Shadow was still in the Metaverse but not in Mementos. The way that Sakura had talked about her made it seem like she didn’t know Amamiya, though. Were they sneaking around behind his back? Or perhaps she hadn’t joined the Thieves yet, but exposure to her mother’s research meant her Persona was already present in her heart.

And yet something about the way she’d sounded made him pause; he slid his phone out, lifted it to his mouth, and said, “Sakura Futaba.”

“ _Candidate found_.”

Goro blinked, staring down at his phone. Her name shone back up at him, with the space for two keywords underneath. Seriously? He’d tried it on a whim more than anything; he hadn’t expected it to actually _work_. What was the distortion, even?

“Sakura Sojiro’s house,” he tried, and his phone buzzed immediately. Just the keyword, then -- though that would undoubtedly the most difficult part. Well, her entire existence was a secret from the outside world, so maybe: “A prison.” Wrong. Perhaps she didn’t _want_ to leave? “A… safehouse.” Wrong again. “A bunker. A castle. A fortress.” Nothing, nothing, nothing.

He was getting nowhere with this. With a flare of magic, Goro returned to the top level, and spared the twin at the door barely a glance before he let himself slip back into reality, finding himself tucked away in a corner of the station he’d left. A Palace. Sakura Futaba had a Palace. Could this possibly be related to whatever she and Sakura-san were so reluctant to talk to him about?

As he boarded his train once more he found his mind drifting back to the entreaty she’d made in the bowels of that ship. _It’s not too late to start over_. He’d brushed off her words before as the empty platitudes of a coddled child, one so sheltered that she’d lost her mother and yet had still been loved enough for someone else to take her in. But it must’ve run deeper than that, if she had a fucking Palace.

Still, he forced himself to remember, the particulars weren’t necessarily important. A navigator was useful; changing her heart could be the key to unlocking her Persona, and Oracle in his debt could only pay off in the long run. She’d been one of the most antagonistic to him in that other timeline, after all -- and thinking about the reasons made Goro’s hands tighten on his briefcase so tight his leather gloves squeaked, so he stopped. It would be fine. He could find her keywords and change her heart and it would be fine.

The train rattled along, its path not quite smooth. Goro closed his eyes, swayed with the bumps and jolts, and let his mind drift far, far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the sticks is a good album for goro
> 
> fun fact the futaba+goro rship has been planned since before i posted the fic but i didn't tag it earlier bc i wanted it to be a fun surprise :) their dynamic is very interesting to me so i'm really looking forward to exploring it here!
> 
> as always catch me on twit @hirokiyuus if ya wanna chat or @yuunamakis if you wanna see me talk abt my writing!


	4. chapter three: a rocking great boulder, stuck in the gutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships are cultivated. Akechi Goro buys an Aquarius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the usual shoutouts to alm and apple for editing and proofreading respectively <3
> 
> chapter title from mother mother's [o my heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RAISESvit4k)!
> 
> please note ch2 has had some mild edits, due to my own misremembering of futaba's keywords x____x

When Goro had first gone to Shido, hands white-knuckled as he’d knocked on that wooden door, he’d thought he was signing himself up for a life as a glorified serial killer. Oh, the job offer had been dressed up rather prettily, with all sorts of words like _independent contractor_ and _specialized services_ thrown around, but he knew that in the end, all he would ever be was an attack dog. That was alright. If that was what it took to get close to Shido, he could do it, as long as it meant the revenge he’d dreamt of since he was seven years old could finally be achieved.

But as it turned out, his services weren’t limited to mental shutdowns and psychotic breaks. It would be suspicious if too many people began to suffer from them all at once, after all, especially if the pattern continued to benefit one specific group of people. So Shido’s associates put their heads together, and thought very hard about the possible utilizations of Goro’s powers, and in the end they realized: Shadows would admit things their real-life counterparts would never acknowledge, would brag about their worst exploits without Goro even lifting a finger. All he had to do was find them in the depths, and listen. Thus, while the particulars of Goro’s powers were generally kept under wraps, several members of the upper echelons were aware that Goro was also capable of uncovering all manner of secrets, even ones that a person had never spoken aloud, and were more than happy to utilize that ability.

Goro didn’t really mind those kinds of jobs. Eavesdropping was easier than killing, less exhausting than causing a psychotic break, and as an added bonus, he was often assigned cases that had left the rest of the precinct stumped. Whenever he solved them -- using “deductive reasoning,” or whatever bullshit excuse he felt like that day -- he was lauded as a genius prodigy. It was satisfying, watching everyone applaud him with no idea of the truth, as all the senior detectives who’d also tried their hand at the case simmered with resentment over his supposed skills.

Or, well, it had been. Sometimes it still was, especially now that Goro was armed with knowledge of a separate future and had a second step up on these assholes. But most of the fun had been spoiled by what he’d learned in the depths of that ship. As he knocked on the door to the SIU Director’s office, it was hard not to wonder if he was about to come face to face with another person in on the joke of Goro’s disposability. In his last life the Director had been taken out of commission before he could’ve become a problem -- but it could’ve just as easily been Goro, couldn’t it have? Perhaps if things had gone a little bit differently, it would’ve been Shido and the Director laughing as Goro was washed out to sea.

Even the idea of it pissed Goro off, but dwelling on it would only make the conversation he was about to have absolutely unbearable. He forced his thoughts back, straightened his shoulders, and when the Director called out, “Enter!” he did so with a placid, easy smile on his face.

“Ah, Akechi-kun,” the Director said, placing his pen down on his desk. Unlike the others that Goro had met since returning to life, this asshole looked exactly the same as he had the last time they had met: still bald and drooping, with that faux-paternalistic look on his face that annoyed Goro every single time he saw it. “You received my message, then?”

 _No, I came here for shits and giggles._ “I did,” Goro said, smiling charmingly with a tilt of his head. “You have a case for me?”

“I do.” The Director shuffled through some papers before pulling out a file to pass to Goro. “It’s left most of our best men stumped. I was hoping you’d be able to give it a look, see what you can dig up.”

Goro took it, paged through. Oh. He actually remembered this one from before: a hacker, tied to numerous cases of information theft, untraceable by even the department’s best techies. Before, he’d had to tell the director that he was too busy to take the job, so he could hide the fact that there wasn’t actually anything he could do without a name. Even now the memory of how the director’s smirk had changed from placid to patronizing made him irritated.

Goro pushed back the memory and frowned down at the details, trying to remember who the criminal had ended up being. Nothing. He opened his mouth, already tasting the bitterness of defeat on his lips -- and then an idea came to him, risky but alluring, and before he could stop himself he said, “Of course, sir.” As he lifted the file up he gave the director a blinding smile, because if he was going to dig his own grave he might as well look good doing it. “I’ll have something for you as soon as I can.”

The tightening of the asshole’s smile might’ve just been Goro’s imagination, but either way it made Goro feel a little smug. “I’ll be relying on you for the results, then,” the director said, and now Goro _really_ had to make sure his idea would work out. “Now, I’m afraid I have other commitments that need to be taken care of today, so….”

“I understand,” Goro said, faux-sympathetically. Why could none of these old fucks just say goodbye like a normal person? “I’ll see myself out, then.”

He resisted the urge to take the stairs out two at a time, slipping the file into his bag as he went. If all went well, he’d be able to not only solve the case but make some headway on his personal projects as well. If he failed…. Well. He’d see how things went, first. Luckily, there was a seat open on the subway when he got on, so he managed to slide his phone out and open up the conversation from the other night.

**Akechi Goro:** Good afternoon, Futaba-san.

His message bounced, not that he was too worried about that part of things. She’d certainly seen his previous response, after all.

**Akechi Goro:** I have a proposition for you.  
**Akechi Goro:** Though, I suppose the proper phrase would be a job offer.  
**Akechi Goro:** Recently, a certain hacker has been making trouble.  
**Akechi Goro:** Their information theft is putting multitudes of lives in jeopardy.  
**Akechi Goro:** However, I require the identity of this individual to launch a proper investigation.  
**Akechi Goro:** That’s where you come in.  
**Akechi Goro:** Any information gained through counter-hacking is inadmissible in court.  
**Akechi Goro:** But an anonymous tip off doesn’t require us to investigate the source.  
**Akechi Goro:** It could be just what we need to turn the tides here.  
**Akechi Goro:** You would be compensated fairly, of course.

And then he could do nothing but wait. The train passed one stop, then two, then three. He tapped a finger against the side of his phone and kept his expression neutral. What would he do, if she didn’t respond? He’d have to go back to the Director and admit his own incompetence, only this time would be worse than the last. He could practically see the sneer on that man’s ugly face --

Goro’s phone buzzed. He looked down, and when he saw the withheld number on the screen he couldn’t help a grin.

**Unknown:** How much?  
**Akechi Goro:** I’m willing to go as high as 30,000 yen, depending on the speed at which you can get me the information.  
**Unknown:** Ok, but I don’t want money from you.  
**Unknown:** There’s something I’d like you to acquire for me.

Relief swept over him, but it was tempered with no small measure of surprise. It was reasonable to assume that as a detective, he would have access to most contraband items, but he hadn’t taken _her_ for the type to request them. Then again, before he’d only known her after her change of heart. Maybe whatever she sought was related to her distortion? And if it was something of dubious legality, that would explain why she and Sakura were both so cagey about her existence. Still, even though he’d be willing to get to whatever it was she wanted, blind agreement wouldn’t suit his image.

**Akechi Goro:** And that would be?

Her message came in with a buzz. Goro read it, blinked, read it again. It remained just as incomprehensible as it had been the first time.

**Unknown:** Well, how much do you know about Featherman?

* * *

It was only late April, but this time of day the sun was bright enough that Goro’s finger paused over the button for a can of coffee before moving up to an Aquarius instead. As the drink tumbled down Goro took a moment to check his reflection in the glass of the vending machine, one last time. Facemask securely in place, hat pulled low over his eyes, ponytail sticking out over the top of his hoodie -- dressed like this, Goro looked like any of the hundreds of young men who passed through this street every day, completely divorced from his usual image. Or at least, he hoped so.

He tugged the mask down just enough to take a drink before putting the bottle back into the cheap 100 yen bag he’d gotten specifically for this outing, and then he pulled his phone from his pocket. The address of the shop he’d been sent to was a little off the beaten path, about ten minutes walk from the station down a narrow side street Goro’d nearly walked by twice.

If Goro got recognized on his way to a hobby shop in Akihabara because he had to stop and ask for directions, then plans or no, he was flinging himself back into Shido’s Palace until he could get his revenge and then buying his train tickets to Aokigahara. And if Sakura Futaba didn’t open up to him after this, he was going to --

 _Be **patient** with her _, he thought forcefully, adjusting the bag on his shoulder before striding forward. He couldn’t exactly afford to make more enemies, especially not ones as useful as Oracle. And if that meant running the world’s most embarrassing errands, then he would suck it up. It wasn’t as if this was the worst thing he’d ever been asked to do.

At least the shop he’d been sent to was mostly empty when he walked in, just the cashier at the register, flipping through a magazine as Goro walked in and not even lifting his eyes to call out a greeting. The shelves were all stacked floor to ceiling, no labels, but at least a vague sense of organization seemed to be present: everything in the row lining the door looked to be Kamen Rider, all the new stuff near the entrance and the older stretching down to the far wall.

Goro turned left, walking in deeper and scanning the rows carefully until familiar bright colors caught his eye. The text had asked for (or rather, demanded) Super Neo Featherman’s full party mech, but as Goro drew closer he realized a major problem, and as he pulled out his phone he bit back a sigh.

**Akechi Goro:** When you said you wanted the full party mech, are you including Gold?  
**Unknown:** Full party means every single ranger, Akechi Goro.

Goro couldn’t help rolling his eyes.

**Akechi Goro:** I’m aware of that.  
**Akechi Goro:** But aren’t there those who would argue a character that only joins the group for four and a half episodes isn’t truly a member of the full party? Despite the fact he was a major character for nearly half a season before truly joining.  
**Unknown:** If he has a suit, he’s a  
**Unknown:** Wait  
**Unknown:** hold on  
**Unknown:** do you know featherman?????

Oh, fuck.

**Akechi Goro:** Haven’t we established I possess a modicum of knowledge about it?  
**Unknown:** “a modicum of knowledge” lol  
**Unknown:** its one thing to say i sound like a featherman villain  
**Unknown:** its a totally dif one to know EXACTLY how many eps gold was in  
**Akechi Goro:** Plenty of people watched Featherman in their childhood, Futaba-san.  
**Akechi Goro:** And I have a good memory.  
**Unknown:** so if i check ur internet history i wont see any streaming sites then???  
**Akechi Goro:** Are you even capable of doing that?  
**Unknown:** ur not denying it lol

Double fuck. At least the store was empty and Goro was wearing a mask, so no one could see the face he was undoubtedly making down at his phone.

**Akechi Goro:** Fine.  
**Akechi Goro:** I’ll admit it’s relaxing to watch at times.  
**Unknown:** “relaxing to watch”  
**Unknown:** if u dont have featherman opinions mr “despite being a major character” i’ll burn my limited edition gold foil super reverse poster

Goro pinched the bridge of his nose.

**Akechi Goro:** I enjoy Featherman and I care about the characters. I promise you, it’s nothing deeper than that.  
**Unknown:** uh huh  
**Unknown:** just like how gold’s death wasn’t cheap shock factor right  
**Akechi Goro:** Gold’s death, while tragic, fit with the thematic approaches of the show as a whole, actually.  
**Akechi Goro:** So if that’s the comparison you’re trying to draw, I

“Are you gonna buy something, kid?”

Goro’s head jerked up, phone nearly slipping out of his hands. The cashier was standing at the end of the row, looking supremely unimpressed. “If you’re just here to stand around and play with your cell, you can do it somewhere else.”

“Oh --” Goro’s phone buzzed, but he shoved it in his pocket and grabbed the requested figure off the shelf. “It’s just this actually,” he said, voice a little frazzled, “and then I’ll get out of your way.”

The clerk gave a half shrug and then turned back, giving Goro a wave to follow as he went. His phone vibrated again but Goro ignored it in favor of paying and then shoving the box as deeply as he could into the bag. He carefully did _not_ flee from the store, walking evenly and only stopping when he was on a completely different side street, not relaxing until he was certain it was empty.

Leaning against a stretch of wall, hidden from the world, Goro stuffed his hands in his pockets and let himself sigh. He really had no recourse if she attempted to use this information against him -- he’d dug into her record at the station, but any blackmail he attempted had a chance of getting back to Sakura Sojiro. If Goro were banned from Leblanc, then where would he be? Keeping his image intact meant nothing if the measures to keep it safe sent the rest of his plans crumbling down around him. There was no way to protect himself if she chose to leak it.

Just the thought of it made him tired. Liking sweets was childish enough, add in his stupid love of sentai and his persona went from refreshingly boyish to unappealingly juvenile. The amount of damage control that even attempting to maintain his image would require in that situation was exhausting to consider.

Goro let his head tilt back til it hit the wall and sighed again. At least the situation wasn’t entirely without benefits, he thought. She’d seemed to almost open up when she started to talk about the show, texts slipping into a level of informality he’d never seen before, even in the Phantom Thieves group chat. Her guard had appeared to be lowered, and that was something Goro could take advantage of, to get into her Palace. And perhaps, if he spoke with her about the topic, she wouldn’t feel the need to go spilling his embarrassing pastimes to whatever gossip rags she saw fit.

All that would require, it seemed, was to be honest with her concerning the hobby he’d spent years keeping under wraps. The thought of it made his skin crawl a little, but there weren’t many other options at this juncture. Goro leaned a little more of his weight on the wall as he pulled out his phone. Notifications littered his screen, all from that same withheld number.

**Unknown:** “thematically appropriate” i KNEW that would get u i KNEW u were secretly a huge nerd!!!  
**Unknown:** how much have u even watched then?? all the seasons or just super???  
**Unknown:** it cant be just super i wont believe that  
**Unknown:** not if u have opinions on the THEMES  
**Unknown:** did u like deluxe???  
**Unknown:** actually better question did u like ETERNAL  
**Unknown:** i know it’s like super old but its so good  
**Unknown:** hello??  
**Unknown:** are you there?  
**Unknown:** Akechi?  
**Akechi Goro:** My apologies, Futaba-san.  
**Akechi Goro:** The shopkeeper wasn’t pleased with my loitering.

Her response took a moment to come.

**Unknown:** I see.  
**Akechi Goro:** I’ve acquired the item you requested.  
**Akechi Goro:** What should I do with it?  
**Unknown:** Youre a nosy snoop  
**Unknown:** So you know where Sakura Sojiro’s house is, right?  
**Akechi Goro:** Guilty as charged.  
**Unknown:** Leave it outside the front door.  
**Unknown:** The gate will be open so dont worry about getting in.  
**Akechi Goro:** Understood.

His fingers paused over his keyboard. Perhaps… perhaps Goro could let the conversation die here. Go to Yongen, drop the stupid thing off, let communication wither away. He didn’t _really_ need her, did he? Not if he had Joker and the other Thieves on his side.

He started to lock his phone -- and then he caught sight of light brown hair down the end of the street, head whipping up so fast his neck hurt. But of course it wasn’t who he thought it was, just some girl with bobbed hair, dressed in a brown coat similar to the one from his school. She took a few steps into the street before vanishing into some shop, and then Goro was alone, only his phone and a phantom pain in his chest for company.

He had been careless before. He couldn’t afford to be again. Goro looked back down at his phone, and began to type.

**Akechi Goro:** You’re right, by the way.  
**Akechi Goro:** Super Neo Featherman is my favorite, but I’ve watched most every season.  
**Akechi Goro:** Several times over, if I’m being honest.  
**Akechi Goro:** I don’t usually talk about it.  
**Akechi Goro:** It doesn’t quite match the image most people have of me.  
**Akechi Goro:** But I’ll make you a deal.  
**Akechi Goro:** Let’s talk about Featherman together.  
**Akechi Goro:** In exchange, you can help me with cases sometimes.  
**Akechi Goro:** Does that sound fair?

He waited again. The typing icon appeared, vanished, then appeared again. The minute and a half in which he sat there, staring down at his phone, seemed to stretch on for eternity before it finally buzzed in his hand.

**Unknown:** Im not that cheap  
**Unknown:** Gonna need more figs too  
**Unknown:** My usual supplier never gets the right ones  
**Akechi Goro:** Understood. I’m willing to work with those terms.  
**Akechi Goro:** But in that case, could you unblock my number?  
**Akechi Goro:** Constantly having to close this popup makes typing quite slow.  
**Unknown:** LOL  
**Unknown:** fine  
**Unknown:** since itll make it faster for u 2 send me ur opinions  
**Akechi Goro:** Thank you.

No pop-up. Fucking finally.

**Akechi Goro:** I’ll run your gift over now, then.  
**Akechi Goro:** If you could have the name by tomorrow, I would deeply appreciate it.  
**Unknown:** oh i already got that  
**Unknown:** it took like fifteen minutes  
**Unknown:** hasebe shintaro  
**Unknown:** he lives near suidobashi station  
**Unknown:** good enough?  
**Akechi Goro:** More than.  
**Akechi Goro:** Thank you, Futaba-san. You’ve been a wonderful help.  
**Akechi Goro:** I’ll probably be occupied by the investigation for the next few days, but we’ll be in touch.  
**Unknown:** sure  
**Unknown:** have fun with your detective stuff super nerd

Goro rolled his eyes, but put his phone away with a feeling of satisfaction. Nothing was nice as hitting two birds with one stone, and now Goro had both a hacker ally and an inroad to Sakura Futaba’s Palace. It wasn’t quite the way he’d wanted to pull this off, but the end result was the same. For once, he thought, maybe things were finally going his way.

 

* * *

 

Despite the falling cherry blossoms, Goro hadn’t realized how much time had passed since coming back, until one morning when his phone began to buzz wildly. Toothbrush hanging half out of his mouth, he slipped back into his room to snag it -- but instead of the message alerts he’d been expecting, his screen was flooded with Twitter notifications from the dummy account he’d set up to track mentions of Shujin or Kamoshida.

He took his phone back with him to the bathroom, scrolling down the feed as he went. He generally tended to get a few alerts on it every day, but nothing like this. Everyone was abuzz, it seemed, over the strange message that had gone up all over school, accusing Shujin’s beloved volleyball coach of abuse and demanding he confess his crimes. Photos of the calling card were rampant, though it seemed they were going down within minutes of posting.

Goro opened a particularly clear one and saved it onto his phone, just in case. He’d read it before, back when he’d been assigned to the Phantom Thief case and he’d been given copies of each card to compare, but it had been months since then, and after his attempts to ingratiate himself with Amamiya had began in earnest, he hadn’t given it much thought.

As he read he couldn’t help his snort. He could practically hear Sakamoto’s voice in his head, shouting this all out with a stupid scowl on his face. Still, he supposed it served its purpose -- tomorrow, apparently, the Thieves would move. That gave Goro about a day to figure out the keywords so he could check in on the Thieves’ progress.

There were two options, then. One, he could guess. Most adults tended to have the same twisted views of the world -- dens of luxury or safe havens, that sort of thing. It probably wouldn’t be too hard. Or….

Well, Goro had been wanting a good cup of coffee. And bringing up the Thieves with Amamiya already might not be a bad idea. Establishing Goro’s interest in the subject early meant that when the time came his eventual request wouldn’t seem too far out of left field, especially if he could start laying the foundations for both his suspicion of Amamiya as the leader and his support of their work.

Yes, that would do. Goro pocketed his phone and spat in the sink. He’d had some absent plans to catch up on school work tonight, but that could wait. This was more important.

The bulk of the day felt a little like sleepwalking, everything distant and removed as if he were watching it from underwater. Concentrating on lectures was near impossible when Goro’s mind kept slipping back to that card still saved on his phone, and it took more self-control than he would’ve liked not to pull out his phone and look at it during breaks. At least he didn’t have to go to the station that day -- feigning police work would’ve taken more focus than he would’ve been able to spare.

But eventually, the day began to grow to a close. Eventually, the librarian called out a five minute warning, and Goro packed his things up along with the rest to spill into setting sun. Eventually, Goro slid into the crowded trains packed with other high schoolers and those lucky enough not to be working past dark. Eventually, eventually, Goro found himself outside Leblanc, and he lingered outside for only a moment before he pushed open the door.

There were no customers in the cafe, and in fact behind the counter Sakura was already hanging up his apron. “Oh,” he said, seeing Goro and pausing mid-motion. “Hey there, kid. Can’t say I was expecting you.”

“Forgive me,” Goro said, eyes sliding to the clock on the wall, coming up next to the bar by his usual chair but not sitting down. “I didn’t realize you were closing already…?”

“It wasn’t planned.” Sakura reached up, scratched at the back of his head. “Something came up last minute, so….” His daughter, most likely. “But since you’re already here, might as well get the kid to make you a cup.”

“O-Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose,” Goro said, like an absolute idiot, even as Sakura made his way to the attic’s entrance. “I mean --”

“Hey!” Sakura called up before Goro could even finish. “Come mind the cafe, I’ve gotta go out for a bit.” The stairs creaked, the sound of quiet footsteps overshadowed by Sakura’s voice as he kept talking. “If I’m not back by closing, make sure you lock up the shop, alright? And make the coffee _exactly_ like I taught you, got it?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Goro heard Amamiya before he saw him; he was out of uniform, mouth a little pinched -- but when he saw Goro that faded into the tiniest smile. “Oh, hey,” he said, even as next to him Sakura rolled his eyes. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I was in the area, and thought I might stop by,” Goro said, sheepishly. “I’m sorry to trouble you on my account.”

“It’s fine,” Amamiya said, sliding behind the counter and grabbing an apron as he went. “I wasn’t doing anything important anyways.”

Sakura snorted. “Not very inspiring, kid,” he said dryly. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’ll be down here, then. Just don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.” With a wave of his hand, he grabbed a hat off the stand and left as he slid it on, the bell tinkling as the door closed behind him.

“Guess it’s just you and me,” Amamiya said. “Hope you’re not expecting anything too special. I can only do the basics right now.” He had a lock of hair twirled around his finger again, smiling at Goro with a tilt of his head.

“That’s fine,” Goro said, finally sitting down. He smiled back at Amamiya, and added, “I’m sure you won’t let me down.”

Amamiya ducked his head a little more, grin growing as he said, “I’ll do my best,” and with that, he turned to face the back counter.

A quiet settled over them, as Amamiya prepared Goro’s coffee, and Goro watched Amamiya work -- but his movements were a little strange, uncharacteristically jittery, fingers tapping double time as he went through the motions. And perhaps that could be attributed to how recently Amamiya had learned this, or the way Sakura had so abruptly left him in charge of the cafe, but most likely --

“Did you see the notice that went up around your school today?” Goro asked, and no sooner had the sentence left his mouth than the cup crashed to the ground.

“ _Shit_ ,” Amamiya hissed. He knelt before Goro could even say anything else, grabbing a rag off the counter as he went. “Fuck, that was so stupid.”

“Are you alright?” Goro said, standing up and crossing behind the counter. Amamiya had the rag soaking the spilled coffee, his other hand picking bits of porcelain from the floor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you so badly.”

“It’s not your fault,” Amamiya said. His glasses slipped as he looked up at Goro; with the hand not holding the rag he pushed them back into their proper position. “Just an accident.”

“Still,” Goro said, kneeling carefully so that the coffee wouldn’t touch his slacks. “If I hadn’t --”

And all at once his breath caught in his throat, the air in the cafe suddenly feeling strange and heavy in his throat. “Oh --” he said, voice suddenly wobbling. “You’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” Amamiya said, hand opening to reveal a long cut from his finger all the way down his palm -- but that wasn’t what had caught Goro’s attention. No, all of Goro’s focus was on the line of blood trickling down the side of Amamiya’s nose from where it must’ve been smeared while Amamiya had adjusted his glasses. That line made its way slow and steady down Amamiya’s face, beading on Amamiya’s chin, and the sound of that drop hitting the floor rang so loudly Goro’s ears hurt  --

“Excuse me,” Goro heard himself say. He stood calmly, walked to the bathroom with static in his ears, and locked the door shut behind him. He lowered the toilet lid, sat down, tugged off his glove, and shoved his whole fucking hand in his mouth, biting down hard so he wouldn’t start screaming.

He was such a fucking moron, he thought viciously as his teeth tore into his fingers. He wasn’t -- he shouldn’t be _bothered_ by this, not to this extent. They weren't friends after all, not really, not in any way that mattered. Any affection that Amamiya could possibly feel for Goro was engineered by Goro himself; all that openness and kindness was something that only emerged when Goro had lied and lied and lied. It was obvious -- Amamiya had never acted like this before, after all.There was no chance that Amamiya _actually_ cared about him.

All those stolen moments from before -- catching him at the station, sitting at the counter in Leblanc -- none of them meant anything at all. Amamiya had never once let anything slip past his mask of indifference when he looked at Goro. They hadn’t been _friends_. None of the conversations they’d had had been important. Nothing they’d said ever mattered. In all those months spent in orbit as Goro had put the finishing touches on his master plan, they’d never meant anything to each other, not even a little bit.

And so what if Goro had spent the hours after leaving the interrogation room with his whole body underwater, head fuzzy and breathing too slow? So what if he still had nightmares about Amamiya’s empty eyes reflecting his own crazed grin, a match to the one on the face of the him sitting pretty somewhere in Shido’s head? So fucking _what_ if he still couldn’t think about the whole thing without wanting to drown himself? Amamiya didn’t care about him, and so why should Goro -- why should he --

Distantly he was aware that he’d gotten up and turned the sink on. It was no substitute for a proper shower, but he scrubbed his hands regardless, water cranked as hot as it could get. His fingernails dug into the bitemarks he’d left and he watched his own blood dilute into pink as it slid down the drain. It wasn’t enough. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, and still it wasn’t enough.

And then, minutes or months after he locked himself away, there came a knock on the door. “Akechi?” Amamiya’s voice was muffled by the door, gentle, soft, unbearable. “Everything okay in there?”

Goro’s mouth probably moved. His throat felt words scraping against it. Whatever he said was muffled by the sound of rushing water. “Alright,” Amamiya called back, voice somehow even kinder. It made Goro want to break something; his nails dug deeper into a cut. “I’ll be outside, then.”

Footsteps, quickly washed away by the faucet’s noise. Goro couldn’t stay here, not anymore; in fact he couldn’t even remember why he’d came. He wrenched his hands apart from each other, pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe them dry, shoved the bloody mess back without blinking. When he pulled his gloves on they stung against each open cut.  

Why the hell, he thought as he pushed open the door, was he even still alive?

Amamiya was behind the counter again, a second cup of coffee sitting at Goro’s usual spot. His face was impeccably clean. “Hey there,” he said, just as nauseatingly kind as he’d sounded through the door, only now it was made worse by the gentle smile on his face. “Feeling better?”

“Thank you for the concern,” Goro said, somehow. His lips were twisted up, teeth showing. He hoped the expression came off as a smile. “I think I’ll be heading home now, though.”

“Alright,” Amamiya said, placatingly, even as he reached up to tug the apron off his head. “Let me walk you to the station, then.”

“It’s alright,” Goro said. He directed his body forward, told his hands to grab his briefcase despite the throbbing pain that ran through them with the motion. “I’m fine alone.”

“You sure?” Amamiya had emerged from behind the counter regardless, was eyeing Goro with watchful eyes. “It’s dark out.”

Indeed it was. The sun had continued its relentless march while Goro had locked himself away like a fucking brat. “It’s fine, Amamiya-kun,” he said, teeth clenched around his smile. He turned on one unsteady heel, ready to push through the door, when a hand reached out and tugged lightly on his wrist, and against all better judgement Goro turned.

Their eyes met for a moment, and then Amamiya released him to kneel, picking something up off the ground before he straightened once more.  “You dropped this.” He held out Goro’s bloody handkerchief -- and then he did a double-take, lips parting as he stared down at it for a moment before his eyes trailed back up to Goro. “Akechi, what --”

Goro ripped it from Amamiya’s hand, shuddering as they touched, just for a moment. _You don’t really care about me_ , he thought as sharply as he could. Even through his gloves he could feel the warmth of Amamiya’s skin. _You don’t, you don’t, you don’t, if you knew what I really was you wouldn’t be standing here and fucking staring at me like this, like I’m worth anything at all, like my life actually_ matters _to you --_

_the way yours matters to me._

Goro couldn’t even speak. He stared at Amamiya with his breath coming in short pants, until Amamiya opened his mouth, and then Goro turned and ran straight out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local Teen Horrified To Realize He Has Feelings
> 
> i know pocari sweat is more popular/famous in the west but every single person i know drinks aquarius so like,
> 
> comments/kudos always appreciated! follow me on twitter @yuunamakis for more fic or @hirokiyuus for jpns vending machine drink ratings


	5. chapter four: until we close our eyes for good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of long days. Akechi Goro gets an unappealing chicken katsu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all my love 2 alm and apple for the editing + proofreading!
> 
> chapter title from cage the elephant's [no rest for the wicked](http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HKtsdZs9LJo)

The next morning Goro woke up feeling like an abject failure, which was not unusual. He’d collapsed into bed the moment he’d arrived home, finding himself empty of the energy to change his clothes and hadn’t even bothered getting under the covers. At least his gloves had kept the blood from smearing on his futon, though this pair was probably ruined now.

His phone chimed. He didn’t look at it. Thank fuck Amamiya didn’t have his number -- and shit, even thinking about him, about Goro’s little display last night, sent something sick roiling down Goro’s gut. This was a fucking mess, wasn’t it?

Still. Goro’s entire life was a study in walking the world’s thinnest tightrope over a pit of disaster. He had wobbled last night but not fallen, and as long as he righted himself he could continue onwards.

Regardless, he didn’t have to think about it now. The calling card had gone out, which meant Goro had approximately twelve hours to figure out Kamoshida Suguru’s keywords and then get into the Palace so he could find a good spot to watch the show. Everything about his own personal relationship with Amamiya could be dealt with in the aftermath.

The keywords, at least, could be found from bed. He grabbed his phone from the outlet; ignoring the message for now (it was just a link to some post about Deluxe, nothing immediately pressing), he unlocked it and opened the Metaverse app. The three spaces for keywords blinked up at him.

By now, Goro had done this dozens of times. It was easy. There’d been no reason to go to Leblanc yesterday, really. And yet, he had. For the plan, and for --

He clamped down hard on his own thoughts. “Kamoshida Suguru,” he said, and felt his shoulders relax when he heard a chime. Next was the location -- what had the calling card said? _Putting your desires on students who can’t fight back._ “Shujin Academy.” Another hit. That left only the distortion.

_A bastard of lust._ Goro’s mouth twisted. Abusers always believed themselves so far above the people they hurt, untouchable lords looking down on the peasants who’d done nothing to deserve their lot in life. “A castle,” he said, and his phone chimed. He hadn’t even had to try anything else. Adults really were all the same, weren’t they?

_If you ever need a place to relax, feel free to drop by._

What the absolute _shit_ _,_ was Goro’s brain broken today or something? Why couldn’t he stop getting all this worthless garbage out of his mind? Ren was one thing -- Goro had quite literally died for him; a little bit of misplaced affection was probably to be expected. But Sakura? Sakura wasn’t -- he wasn’t anyone important at all. Just a retired loser who’d quit a prestigious job to manage a cafe and a shut-in. He was no different from anyone else. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. If he was, then --

His phone buzzed in his hand: _dont ignore me!!!_ He rolled his eyes but tapped open the link. It was a lengthy post about some plot hole someone had discovered, or claimed to, ignoring the fact that the moment in question was metaphorical rather than literal. His conversation partner was already halfway through drafting a rebuttal and wanted a second opinion.

The nice thing about arguments was they required just enough focus to occupy his mind, but not enough to distract him from his morning routine. By the time he made it to school, the buzzing between his ears had mostly settled, even when he had to tuck his phone away.

Lectures seemed even slower today, somehow. Hopefully his notes would make sense later, because Goro hadn’t heard a single word of what was being said. By the time fifth period ended, he’d already packed his things, ready to head out early. Luckily his job meant that as long as he kept his grades up, he could come and go whenever he pleased.

As he boarded the train he checked the time. About a hour til Shujin let out. Good. The Thieves would start moving a little while after that, which gave Goro just enough time to make it to Shujin, sneak to the top of the Palace, and settle in.

The castle itself, Goro saw as he slipped into the Metaverse, was about what he’d expected: a monument to greed and lust, a rapist’s ugliest fantasies given form. He ignored statuary and Shadows alike, hugging the darkest corners of the place as he climbed the tower where Kamoshida’s deepest desires no doubt lurked.

At the very top was a treasury, filled to the brim with gold and jewels. In the center hung an enormous crown, shimmering in the light. It was only the second Treasure he’d seen in his life, but somehow Goro wasn’t surprised. What else would a king value?

The king himself, meanwhile, seemed to have emptied out his throne room -- not that Goro trusted that. Traps were best sprung when the enemy had left their guard down, after all, and given that every time Goro had seen the Thieves in action, they’d been cornered almost immediately after by the Palace’s ruler, this seemed like the best place to watch and wait.

Goro slunk down behind one of the planters on the balcony floor, making sure to stay out of sight. From his vantage point he could see almost the entire room, including the entryway and the door to the treasury. As long as he kept his head down and stayed still he doubted he would be noticeable.

He didn’t have to wait very long before the sound of footsteps came clattering through the door. Joker was in the lead, leaking charm and confidence the way he never did outside the Metaverse. Goro looked at him, breathed in very slowly, and then looked away before he could do anything stupid. Flanking Joker on either side were Skull and Panther, Skull holding that stupid bat so low it dragged against the carpet, Panther’s pigtails shining in the candlelight like a pair of beacons. Mona followed behind, gaze swivelling around and making him look like some demented bobble-head.

Just seeing them made something sink in Goro’s chest. Their movements were unpolished and far too loud; if Kamoshida didn’t know exactly where they were already Goro would be shocked. But no, stealth didn’t matter. Just battle prowess, just their Persona skills, anything else was secondary. He hadn’t seen them fight yet.

He kept his breathing steady as he watched them cross the throne room. They spoke to each other as they moved, just a touch too far away for Goro to hear, before their footsteps echoed up the stairs and they disappeared into the treasury. For a moment nothing happened, and then there was more rustling by the door as a yellow-eyed man stepped inside. The king himself, Goro guessed -- with that outfit he doubted it could be anyone else. He was accompanied by a familiar cognition, the false Takamaki’s face set in a vapid smile as she held his hand.

Revolting. How Takamaki had seen this and not killed the bastard responsible was quite beyond him.

He supposed he’d have the chance to find out, now. The Thieves were already pushing back through the open door, carrying the enormous crown as a trio instead of taking advantage of the Metaverse’s mutable nature to shrink it down. It was no surprise, really, when Kamoshida knocked it out of their hands with a well-timed sneak attack, before losing himself and transforming into some hideous slobbering creature shortly afterwards.

And this -- this was what Goro had come to see. How would they defeat this creature? Just looking at it Goro could tell they weren’t strong enough -- yet he doubted they had been any stronger when they’d fought it before. Would Joker awaken to a new ability in the heat of battle? Or maybe a new Persona? Or --

He thought of his own battle against them. Perhaps their strength wouldn’t grow at all.

Regardless, victory wouldn’t be immediate, it seemed, judging by the flow of battle already. The Thieves were going after the Shadow with all the effort of a toddler trying to beat his way out of his caretaker’s hands -- furiously and completely ineffectively. Skull threw himself forward with his bat; Panther sent fireball after fireball in its direction; Mona kept slinging pellets into its eyes; Joker swapped out Personas faster than breathing, and yet Kamoshida’s Shadow appeared barely bothered. Every time they managed to knock it around, it seemed to draw energy from that cup in front of it, wounds closing up before anything major could happen.

Breaking the cup only made things worse -- the Shadow’s attacks grew more frenzied, the Thieves trying desperately to dodge out of the way as it screamed and stabbed at them maniacally with its enormous knife. Goro watched, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. Had he overestimated them? Should he jump in? Surely this must have happened before; Goro knew Kamoshida had confessed successfully. But perhaps the injury that Amamiya had obtained last night was enough to have slowed his reflexes at some crucial point. The Thieves weren’t looking good, after all: Joker was just barely managing to jump out of the way of an enormous fist while Panther tried to send a blast of healing energy over herself despite her shaking hands; Skull was still reeling in the aftermath a particularly brutal hit while Mona --

Goro blinked. Where was Mona?

He cast his eyes about but the ground floor seemed to be occupied solely by the Shadow, its minions, and the three human Thieves. It was only when Goro looked up that he saw Mona, his stubby legs scrambling desperately as he pulled himself up on top of one of the columns. As Goro watched the cat threw himself forward and then --

Their eyes met.

Goro didn’t even have time to freeze before the thing was out of eyesight, knocking the crown off, but he was sure that he hadn’t gone ignored. Even as the Thieves flung themselves into battle below him, Goro dug through his things until his hand closed around one of those strange sticks that would teleport him out of the Palace if he broke it.

Just before he did, he looked down at the group below him. The Shadow’s exterior was flaking away to reveal the human form underneath as all the Thieves watched -- all the Thieves save one, that was. Mona was squinting up at the alcove where Goro had hidden himself.

He pulled back even deeper before snapping the stick in half. In a quiet wisp of magic, he found himself in front of the castle, and wasted no time in exiting the Metaverse before slipping away as quickly as he could. Fucking shit, why was his entire life such a mess? There was no way the other Thieves wouldn’t be hearing about this from the fucking cat the second they were done in Kamoshida’s Palace, and that meant Goro would have to be doubly careful about his own assignments. Shit, what if they realized the breakdowns were because of him?

(Though they’d probably learn that eventually, wouldn’t they? If that fucking double showed up in the bowels of Shido’s ship -- not to mention if they got close enough to hear Shido speak -- there was no telling what sort of things they might learn. Well, Goro could burn that bridge when he came to it.)

Still, he’d been wearing his helmet, and even if it was a little bit broken it still covered most of his face and -- more importantly -- his distinct hair color. Additionally, Goro had been pretending not to understand Mona this whole time. As long as he kept up the act, there was no reason for anyone to think he had any ties to the Metaverse.

For a moment he considered using this as the opportunity to let the Thieves know he was interested in their work, but that would be too risky. No matter what he admitted to doing, Goro would only ever let them see Robin Hood. The part of him that was Loki was too ugly to let surface.

No, for now it was best to keep quiet. Besides, the Thieves weren’t ready to help him yet. A team of five might work, but not one at their level. Still… they had managed to take down that powerful Shadow all on their own. Perhaps with a little bit of clever thinking, they might be able to help him sooner than he’d expected.

Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

* * *

By the time he got home, Goro had calmed down. His body was heavy with the exhaustion that came from any venture to the Metaverse, despite the fact that he hadn’t fought or even used his Personas. He showered quickly, re-wrapped his hands so they’d heal properly (it’d be too hot for gloves soon, after all), and slipped into his futon. Within minutes he was fading -- and yet despite everything his awareness didn’t quite vanish. Mind disconnected from his body, he might’ve drifted for moments or years before a voice rang out in the ether: “Welcome back, Emissary.”

Goro’s eyes opened. He hung suspended in his cage in the Velvet Room, his view clear despite the liquid enveloping him. Igor was smiling as always, chin resting on folded hands; his desk and the circle on which Goro’s tank and the twins stood were the only platforms in the room, hovering over an endless darkness. Goro shifted, but his straightjacket was tight as ever.

“It has been quite a while,” Igor said. Goro didn’t respond. He couldn’t speak with the oxygen mask over his face, anyways. “I see you’ve become aware of the adversary who would attempt to avert your path.”

Goro raised an eyebrow, and Igor laughed. By the side of his tank, one of the twins shifted. He’d never heard them say a word as long as he’d been here. “The Phantom Thieves,” Igor said. “There is one in particular who I think you may have some trouble with.”

It was taking all Goro’s self control not to react to any of this. For the first time in his life he was actually grateful for the restraints binding him, keeping any twitches he might’ve wanted to make from showing. “The reckoning grows closer every day,” Igor said, and Goro’s fingers dug into the fabric at his sides.

The reckoning. Igor had been talking about it since Goro had first came here, all those years ago, and it had never come to fruition. It had been _growing closer_ for months and months, so close Goro thought he might finally learn the truth of it, and then before he could finally fucking learn whatever it was, he had died.

_In the space between realities, you were left abandoned._ He didn’t trust Philemon, not in the least because Philemon wore Goro’s own face, but Igor had always been so cold too, smiling so widely even back before Goro had learned not to struggle in his cage. He’d wondered about what, exactly, Igor wanted from him, but in the end he’d always decided that he didn’t care, as long as he could exact his revenge. Whatever it was, it hadn’t really mattered.

But in the wake of that tea party it suddenly felt vital to try and absorb everything about it he could. A game between gods, and here Goro and Amamiya were, caught right in the middle. If this whole mess was enough for Philemon to try and turn Goro against Igor, it probably was enough for Igor to eliminate Goro if he felt Goro wasn’t moving according to his plans, and until Goro could do what he’d set out to, that was non-negotiable. “Be careful, Emissary,” Igor was saying, as Goro’s brain whirred. “Or else you may find your plans irreparably thrown off course.”

For a moment, Igor eyed Goro, and then suddenly pressure rippled through the room. Igor’s face remained unchanged even as the liquid on Goro’s skin grew cold. “And yet,” Igor said, slowly, “it seems your plans are already changing.” He stared silently for a moment, and didn’t blink. “Will that ship be sinking sooner rather than later, I wonder?”

Goro breathed in stale air and felt distantly grateful that this was one place his tongue couldn’t betray him. Counting his breaths, he left his body deliberately untense, and didn’t look away from Igor’s eyes. The other twin clutched her clipboard a little tighter. Eventually, Igor spoke again, and the pressure did not quite leave, but it lessened: “Well, I suppose we will all see in due time what you make of yourself.”

Goro inhaled and counted and exhaled and counted, and didn’t relax because he hadn’t tensed up in the first place. “Still,” Igor said, “for now, Emissary, leave this place. We will speak again later.” He gave Goro one last smile before Goro’s eyes grew suddenly heavy. When he opened them again he was staring at his ugly speckled ceiling.

Goro sat up, rubbed a hand against his face just to make sure he could. He stood up and made his way to the sink without bothering to turn on a light. As he stood there, filling up a glass, he watched the lights of the cars flickering past his tiny window.

So Igor was suspicious of him. In all honestly Goro should’ve seen that coming -- Goro was an investment, after all, one that Igor had put several years of work into at this point. And while it wasn’t as if Goro had ever directly laid out his plans, he doubted Igor had expected Goro to be making a move so soon.

Still, in some ways lying was easier when Goro couldn’t talk. As long as he was careful about his body language and limited his visits to the Velvet Room, he doubted Igor would try anything. Goro was important, after all. Goro was a game piece in something he was starting to think went far beyond Phantom Thieves and detectives.

What the hell was this reckoning, anyways? It was Igor’s grand ambition, that Philemon apparently found so abhorrent he was willing to gamble everything away on Goro himself. It would come near the end of the year, most likely. It would emerge as a result of his interactions with Amamiya -- or, as Igor referred to him, Goro’s adversary. And yet beyond that it was a mystery.

Goro tapped a finger against the counter, taking a sip of water to drown out the sour taste in his mouth. Gathering information about this would be fucking impossible, wouldn’t it. Counter-interrogation was only possible if both members could speak. It wasn’t as if Goro could just -- blink at Igor in fucking Morse, or something.

Well. It wasn’t as if it mattered. Igor’s ambitions had always been secondary to Goro’s own. Whatever his master plan was, as long as Goro could crush Shido under his feet, it didn’t matter. Goro was probably going to die afterwards, anyways. Who gave a shit.

_It could hurt Amamiya._

The thought flickered through his mind, a flash in a dark room. He closed his eyes, breathed in hard through his nose, and then breathed out. What, exactly, was Goro supposed to do in a battle involving literal gods? His hands weren’t things that existed to help others. The best thing for everyone involved would be for him to fuck off and die after he reached his goal, leaving his corpse behind as a giant middle finger to Igor.

Goro drained his glass, slamming it onto the counter with too much force and leaving it there. His futon lay on the floor but he gave it a kick to the side before pulling out his laptop. There was police work he’d been putting off, and he’d never really been able to fall asleep after a visit to the Velvet Room, anyways.

Even in the dim light, he could see the reflection of his face on his laptop screen before it booted up. He looked exhausted, deep circles under his eyes and an unhappy slant to his mouth -- in other words, the same as he always did under the makeup. Luckily, he didn’t have to stare at himself too long before the screen lit up, and he let his mind shut down as he opened up one of his police files.

He didn’t move until dawn.

* * *

Dread loomed heavy in Goro’s chest that night as he made his way to Leblanc. Even that second first time he’d come here, he hadn’t been half so afraid; Amamiya had been a stranger, after all, and nothing was worse than the pit that Goro had been in after learning the truth of Shido’s plans. Now, though -- things had actually been going well, and then it had crashed down all around him.

Still, he only had himself to blame for this situation. He pushed open the door with all the poise of a general going to war -- but Sakura was alone behind the counter. “Welcome back,” he said, folding up his paper and turning to the machines as Goro made for the safety of the counter. “The usual?”

“Yes, please,” Goro said, eyes casting towards the attic despite himself, then back to the door. Nothing. The only other patron was a middle-aged woman sipping slowly, eyes glued to the TV.

He nearly jumped when the cup was placed in front of him. “Kid’s not back yet,” Sakura said, giving Goro a knowing look, “but he should be by soon.”

Goro played defense, smiling harmlessly. “Thank you,” he said, before taking a sip of his coffee to wash the taste of dread from his mouth. There was no way he could make conversation like this, and so he tugged a notebook out of his briefcase and began staring at it determinedly, counting the strokes of each kanji on the page. Sakura made a noise that might’ve been a snort, but didn’t say anything more, and after not too long there was the scraping of a chair and then the rustling of newspaper.

Goro didn’t quite manage to relax, but eventually his brain slowed enough to actually focus on the contents of his notes beyond the surface level. Paging through line after line of boring historical facts passed the time well enough, and before long the the sky to began to grow orange. He’d read his notes on Meiji innovation five times when the bell on the door rang. Goro took one last sip of his coffee, steeled himself, and turned.

Amamiya looked genuinely surprised to see him -- lips parted just so, eyes a little wide. The cat poked its head out of the bag to see what had Amamiya frozen and said, “Oh jeez, not this guy again.”

“Hello there, Morgana,” Goro said, voice nice and level, before forcing his eyes to meet Amamiya’s. “And to you as well, Amamiya-kun.”

“...Hey.” Amamiya stepped inside properly before leaning down so the cat could jump out. He stayed kneeling for a moment, rubbing a hand over Morgana’s head, before he straightened up. His eyes flicked to Goro’s face, then to Sakura, then to the customer at the table. “Should we--” his mouth pulled down, just for a second -- “go upstairs?”

Goro smiled, feeling every tooth in his mouth. “That would probably be for the best, yes.”

Amamiya knelt back down next to the cat. Goro pretended not to understand the murmured conversation they had as he fished out the money for his coffee before passing it over to Sakura, who was watching them with a raised eyebrow. He took it silently but didn’t move, giving Goro a once-over before shaking his head and moving to the till.

At least he hadn’t spoken. Small victories, and all.

“Let’s go,” Amamiya said, having straightened back up before Goro noticed.

Goro nodded back, smiled as sweetly as he could, and ignored the pressure of Amamiya’s eyes on him as he picked up his things. “Lead the way.”

They ascended the stairs in silence, Goro trying desperately to read every line of Amamiya’s back. The tension felt so thick he could choke on it. When they reached the top of the stairs, Amamiya paused, and if Goro hadn’t been watching so closely he would’ve missed the way Amamiya’s hand flexed on the railing before he took the final step inside and turned. “Here it is,” he said, sweeping a hand out as Goro finished following him up. “Home sweet home.”

It was different than Goro remembered. The shelves were nearly empty; there was no game station or laptop; the plant to the side was withering. Goro had once been endlessly jealous of this place, of how Amamiya had carved out a space for himself here, and as Goro’s eyes catalogued the place he found that he wasn’t really, not anymore. This did not look like a home, now. This looked like a place for someone you were deeply, deeply ashamed of.

“It’s, ah, cozy up here,” he said, when the silence had stretched just a second too long.

Amamiya laughed with just the slightest hint of bitterness. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said, and because he was moving deeper into the room he missed the slip of Goro’s face. “Couch isn’t bad, at least. You can sit if you want.”

It seemed as good an idea as any. Goro placed his briefcase by the door and then sat, as Amamiya kicked off his shoes and pulled himself cross-legged on the bed. They both settled, and then for a moment silence sat between them before Goro spoke: “I’m sorry.”

Amamiya watched him, expression unreadable. “The last time I saw you, I was quite unseemly.” Goro’s eyes skittered away from Amamiya. “I assume you’d like an explanation.”

Amamiya’s voice floated through the room, carefully level. “You don’t have to push yourself for my sake.”

Goro exhaled. When was he not pushing himself? “No,” he said, trying to match Amamiya’s tone. “It’s fine.”

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, gathered his thoughts. He was about to lie through his teeth, because he obviously couldn’t tell Amamiya what had _really_ happened. _Sorry, I’m actually a serial killer from the future, and two months ago or seven months from now I shot or will shoot you in the fucking forehead, and remembering that gave me a nervous breakdown._ Fuck.

Still, the best lies had a basis in reality, and Goro’s past was something he’d grown used to weaponizing. And while this was a little different from his usual song and dance -- he’d need details instead of just the broad strokes he generally fed the public -- it was alright. Friends were supposed to be able to confide in each other, after all. Goro’s sob story always scored him pity points.

“I’m not sure how much you know about me,” he began, gesturing to the TV without opening his eyes, “but you might be aware I am an orphan. My father --” _is a piece of shit who deserves to burn in hell_ “--was never a part of my life. My mother raised me alone, until….” All the pretty words he usually used to talk about this seemed to burn in his mouth. “Until she killed herself.”

There was no response. Goro couldn’t bring himself to move. “I was the one who found her,” he said, tasting ash. “She was -- she’d slit her wrists.” Even now he could see it, the pink cloudy water in which she’d lain. This wasn’t at all how he’d meant to speak of this; he suffocated the rest of the sentences that wanted to come tumbling out and skipped ahead to the very end: “I’ve never been very good with blood, since.”

And even though it had nothing to do with why Goro had been so fucked up the other night, everything he’d said was true, truer than he’d wanted. He really had found her; she really had bled out in the bathtub like that.

The only secret: at the time, he’d thought she’d drowned herself. Why else would she have been sitting in the tub? Even if she’d been bleeding, how could cuts on her arms kill her? But drowning -- Goro’d learned all about drowning in his swimming classes at school. She must've faded away underwater, he’d believed, water pushing all the air out of her lungs.

It did not sound like an entirely unpleasant way to die.

The couch dipped suddenly. Goro’s eyes flew open. Amamiya was sitting next to him, suddenly, an expression on his face Goro’d never seen before. Miraculously, it wasn’t pity. Goro had suffocated on that long enough.

Regardless, it hurt to see. “Don’t,” Goro said, mouth dry. “I don’t --” He forced his mouth shut, biting down hard on his tongue. He couldn’t refuse anything Amamiya gave him, at this point. He couldn’t.

Amamiya watched him quietly for a moment, before he seemed to realize that Goro wasn’t going to say anything more, and then his lips parted. “Thank you,” he said, very quietly, “for trusting me.” At this distance there was no way he missed the crack in Goro’s mask, the tightening of Goro’s mouth. “But…” his eyes skittered away for a moment, before he looked back up. “Are you sure you’re alright? I mean, that handkerchief you dropped….”

Goro looked away. The answers he’d prepared came a little easier this time, at least. “I wasn’t quite in the proper state of mind, after… well, you know,” he said. “It’s a little embarrassing, but I managed to cut myself on the faucet while turning it on.”

“Didn’t realize it was that sharp.”

Goro laughed, feeling his ears heat up. “Like I said, I was a little out of it.”

“Alright.” Goro looked back over; Amamiya was smiling again, unchallenging and easy. It would’ve seemed genuine if Goro hadn’t spent months learning to make that same harmless expression. “Glad you’re doing better, then.”

Goro thought of guns, of water, of blood; when he smiled back he could see his own cracking mask reflected in Amamiya’s glasses.  “I am,” he said, and the worst part was that it was true.

They stared at each other a moment in silence, but just when Goro thought Amamiya might say something else a voice called up the stairs: “Hey, are you done flirting yet? I’m getting really hungry, and you haven’t eaten yet either!”

“Ah, is that Morgana?” Goro said, pulling himself up from where he’d been reclining. “He sounds quite hungry.” When he stood he took a moment to look down, fiddle with the edges of his sleeves and tug his gloves up a little higher. When he lifted his face he could feel each muscle in his face, knew without looking that right now he was the Detective Prince and nothing more. “I would hate to keep you two away from each other for any longer. Besides, I have to get going myself.”

“Alright,” Amamiya said, standing as well, so close to Goro that Goro could feel his body heat. They’d been near each other on the couch but like this it felt strange and deliberate. “But….” A hand reached up, twisted around a bang, and then Amamiya’s chin lifted, just the slightest bit. “Mind if I get your number, before you go?”

Goro blinked, and then, despite himself, despite all the layers of artifice that he knew had gone into this, he felt the edge of his smile tug a little wider. “Alright,” he said. “Give me your phone, I’ll put it in.”

He resisted the urge to snoop -- there was no way Amamiya wouldn’t notice, not when they were still so fucking close to each other -- and opened a new text, typing in his number before sending himself a simple ‘Hello.’ His phone pinged in his pocket and he pulled it out to save Amamiya’s number before putting it back away.

“One more thing,” Amamiya said, and his finger was still curled tight in his hair even as he leaned in closer. “Can I call you Goro?”

Goro’s cheeks went stupidly hot. When was the last time anyone had called him simply by name? Even his most devoted fans would put an honorific on it. “O-of course,” he said. “In that case, is just Ren alright as well?”

To Goro’s absolute shock, Amamiya actually blushed at that -- barely visible underneath his glasses, it would’ve been completely hidden if it weren’t for the fact that they were practically on top of each other. There was a tiny smile on his face, private and more genuine than before, and he said, “Sure.”

“Alright,” Goro said, and then swallowed before adding, “Ren.” Amamiya -- no, Ren; Goro had to think of him this way or else he might slip up out loud too -- Ren’s smile grew.

Goro couldn’t take it anymore. “I really do need to be going,” he said, and took a step backwards, giving himself space to breathe. “But I’ll text you. Perhaps we could get dinner together soon.”

“Sure,” Ren said. “Looking forward to it, Goro.”

“Me too,” Goro said, and his voice was shaky. He pivoted and darted down the stairs, barely remembering to grab his things. Sakura wasn’t behind the counter, but Morgana was curled up on one of the booths, and his tail twitched as he watched Goro flee.

Halfway to the train station he finally let his feet slow. Okay. That had gone better than expected. He’d kind of panicked at the end, but it was fine. He’d left on a good note. Ren was clearly warming up to him. They were on a fucking first-name basis now and everything.

He’d missed the mark by not bringing up the calling card, but that was alright. Kamoshida’s confession would come any day now, and in the aftermath, he could finally bring up the topic of the Phantom Thieves, really lay the groundwork for all of that. It’d work out. He could do this.

His phone beeped. He fished it out.

**Amamiya Ren:** i didn’t get the chance to say it before you left, but  
**Amamiya Ren:** i just want you to know you can always talk to me.  
**Amamiya Ren:** you’re my friend, and i care about you.

Good, Goro thought, despite the prickling in his throat. This was good. This was just what Goro needed. It was false, but that was alright. As long as he played his cards right, he’d get all the pieces in place for his revenge, and that was what mattered. As long as he never once showed Ren his true face, as long as he kept them moving down the correct path, as long as he lied and lied and lied --

He tapped out a response:

**Akechi Goro:** Thank you, Ren.  
**Akechi Goro:** I’ll keep that in mind.  
**Akechi Goro:** That goes for me, as well. I may not be the best listener, but I’ll do what I can.

His fingers paused.

**Akechi Goro:** After all, I care about you too.

He didn’t wait for an answer before he pocketed his phone and left into the darkening night.

* * *

His chicken katsu was a little dry. Across from him, Sae cut a pristine bite of her hamburg steak and took a bite, chewing delicately, and without looking up she said, “Do you want to order something different?”

“Ah--” Goro smiled on reflex, blinking mildly. “No, it’s quite alright.” He lifted a piece to his mouth and bit in, swallowing it down without a twitch. The only other group in the family restaurant was a mother with two young boys, and as Goro watched, a waitress brought a plate of omurice over to them. It looked delicious. Goro turned his head away.

Sae was watching him. She didn’t flinch when he caught her, their eyes meeting, and he raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” he said, before the silence could stretch into awkwardness. “Is there food on my face?”

“You don’t seem to be taking care of yourself,” she said, still holding her rice bowl. “Didn’t you say you had everything well in hand, the last time we were together?”

“I’m sorry?” Goro said, smiling and grabbing his drink so he could have something to do with his hands. “What do you mean?”

She put her rice bowl down, rested her chopsticks on top. “Last time we spoke,” she said, “you were clearly worn out, but you told me everything was under control, so I let it go. But you’re wearing more makeup than before, and that still doesn’t hide the bags under your eyes. Is this related to what we discussed last time, or is it something new?”

If he gripped the glass too tightly, the squeaking of his gloves would give him away. He held it with a deliberate looseness. “I’m quite fine, Sae-san,” he said, before lifting it up to his mouth.

She raised an eyebrow, opened her mouth, but before she could say anything his phone chimed. Grateful for the reprieve, he reached down and unlocked it.

  
**Sakura Futaba:** wake up  
**Sakura Futaba:** someone on the internet is wrong again  
**Akechi Goro:** Isn’t someone on the Internet always wrong, somewhere?  
**Sakura Futaba:** lol fair  
**Sakura Futaba:** but listen  
**Sakura Futaba:** someone just tried 2 tell me dx green & pink arent gay  
**Sakura Futaba:** and that i was stupid for even thinking it  
**Akechi Goro:** You don’t have to answer these kinds of people, you know.  
**Sakura Futaba:** its a matter of PRIDE mr detective  
**Sakura Futaba:** help me draft this tho i need ur weirdly specific memory of every single scene thats ever been in every featherman ep ever

Goro bit on the inside of his cheek to keep from snorting and texted back ‘ _Later,’_ before locking his phone and flipping it face down. Sae was still looking at him, but her mouth was tilted up, just slightly. “If you’re looking like that, though, I guess I shouldn’t be too worried.”

“Like what?” He lifted an eyebrow, not bothering to hide the way his eyes cooled.

Her smiled lifted a degree. She looked down at her food without answering, picked up her utensils. “I’m glad you’re making friends,” she said, instead, and Goro’s phone buzzed.

“It’s not --” He shook his head with a laugh, ignoring the buzzing. “This is more of an acquaintance, really. We’re collaborating on an independent project.” If talking about Featherman at length while trying to weasel as much personal information as possible out of her was collaboration, at least. She was proving annoyingly tight-lipped about anything personal, anyways; Goro’d been trying keywords after every conversation and was still having no luck.

“Still, you seem to get along.” Her eyes dipped meaningfully to his phone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile when you’re texting before.”

He’d been -- what? Seriously? He hadn’t even noticed. “Our work is going well,” he said, mildly, taking his own food in hand. “I’m satisfied with our progress. And speaking of progress, how is the case with Hasebe going? You’re prosecuting, correct?”

She eyed him for a moment, eyes sharp, smile slipping away. “Akechi-kun,” she said, not entirely approving.

“We only have so much time, Sae-san,” he said, tapping his bare wrist meaningfully and smiling widely. “As fascinating as I’m sure a teenager’s social life is, I think your job ought to be a higher priority to you, right?” Her lips pursed. She didn’t answer. “Sae-san,” he said, almost desperately, and then she sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“I do have questions,” she said, frowning at him. “Both about the case, and about you. If I can only get answers to the ones about the case, then I suppose I’ll have to deal with that.”

“I’m not a case either, Sae-san.”

“I don’t think you are.” Her arms came up to fold across her chest. “But you are one of the only people on the force I can trust to do good work, and exhaustion is not conducive to a good performance.” Her eyes were intent. “You’re young, Goro. You have a bright career ahead of you. I want to make sure you get there.”

Goro swallowed once, twice. “I… appreciate that, Sae-san,” he said, voice quiet. “I really do have it well in hand, but….”

“If you need an ear,” she said.

He nodded.

She smiled at him, and it was warmer than any expression he’d ever seen from her before. Not warm, necessarily, but warmer. “As long as you know.” That hung in the air for a moment before the expression faded. “But for now, perhaps we should return to the Hasebe case.”

“...Yes,” Goro said, after a moment, and leaned forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the emphasis in the phrase "slow burn" continues to be on the "slow"
> 
> anyways, catch me on twit @yuunamakis if you wanna read my writing or @hirokiyuus if you wanna see me shout about critrole, i guess
> 
> comments/kudos are always appreciated <3


	6. chapter five: a luscious mix of words and tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several conversations are held, some more pleasant than others. Akechi Goro orders a salad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, thanks to alm and apple for the beta + the final readthru respectively!!
> 
> chapter title from the shins' [caring is creepy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUMkxH03V5c)!

The place Ren had picked for an early dinner was up on the second floor; the tiny stairs Goro climbed were splattered with mud, the walls decorated with stock photos of American ranches. The hostess who was standing at the counter when he walked in gave him a pleasant smile and said, “Sit anywhere.”

He smiled back. “Thank you.” Her expression shifted minutely, eyes widening, but before she could say anything Goro turned away. Quickly as possible, he scanned the tables for a head of familiar curly hair -- and there it was, on the left. He made a beeline for the booth and set his briefcase down as he took a seat, finger already reaching for the call button.

“Someone’s hungry.” Ren’s school things were scattered all over the table, his food half-eaten; one hand served as a cushion for his chin, the other twirled a pen with reckless abandon. He was smiling. “No hello?”

Goro laughed and felt his ears go red. “I -- Forgive me,” he said, and reached up to rub minutely at his eye. “I haven’t gotten the chance to eat yet today.”

Ren’s smile shrunk down as he sat up. “Goro,” he said, and even though he’d used the name over text it still sent a little _something_ up Goro’s spine to hear out loud. “It’s nearly five.”

“Things have been busy,” Goro said, as the waitress approached. Even thinking about Kamoshida’s confession just a few days ago made Goro want to collapse against the booth and close his eyes, but instead he gave the waitress his order and a smile. His only concession to exhaustion was letting his own pose mirror Ren’s as she left -- slumped forward, chin in hand.

“Why didn’t you go home?” Ren asked.

Goro managed another smile, listing a little more to the side. “I wanted to see you.”

Ren’s eyes tilted down, but his grin was back, and Goro counted it as a point in his favor even if the sentiment had been more honest than he would’ve liked. “Still,” Ren said, meeting Goro’s eyes again. “You sure you don’t need a nap?”

“I’ll be fine once I have some coffee,” Goro said, giving his free hand a little wave. “And what about you?” He gestured to the books. “Hard at work, hm?”

“Nice eye, detective,” Ren said, grinning going a little sly. He straightened up, began closing textbooks and stacking them to the side. “We’ve got exams in a few days.”

“Yours too?” Goro said, sympathetically. “I’d offer to help you review, but I’ve barely had time for my own studying recently.”

Ren capped the pen and placed it down on top of his things. “You seem pretty overworked,” he said. “Did something happen?”

“Well....” Goro let his eyes slide nearly shut, so he was watching Ren from under his lashes. “Just for the record, I don’t generally discuss open cases, but….” He shrugged with his free shoulder, an easy careless movement he’d practiced before. “You go to Shujin,” he said, watching Ren intently, “so you’ve probably already heard.”

Ren’s posture was significant in how it didn’t tense up. Even someone completely unconnected probably would’ve stiffened at the reminder of that very public, very horrifying confession, but Ren barely twitched. A lot of people would’ve overlooked that, Goro thought. It wasn’t bad at all. “Kamoshida,” Ren said, and at least there was no disguising the curtness in his voice.

“Mm-hm,” Goro said. The waitress came by with his coffee, and Goro straightened, gave her a charming smile and his thanks. Once she was gone, blushing lightly, he let the Detective Prince slip away. “That’s part of why I asked you here tonight, actually. We’ve interviewed several students regarding the allegations, but I was curious if you’d ever met him yourself.”

“Met him,” Ren said. His voice was short and clipped. The lines of his mouth were tight as the day Goro’d first met him. “Didn’t really get along.”

“He sounds abhorrent,” Goro said, pouring two creamers into his coffee and then adding a packet of sugar besides. As he stirred he continued, “Luckily, I haven’t been assigned to his case personally, but the publicity of his confession means we’re all putting in extra hours.”

“Can’t cut any corners, huh.” Ren’s voice was almost mild enough not to be insulting.

“Oh no, I’m fully confident that Yamamura and the rest are absolutely willing to perform shoddy police work in this situation.” Goro hadn’t meant to sound quite so bitter, but he’d just spent the past three days holed up at the station, trapped in the company of men who’d looked down their nose at him his whole career. “But they’ve got to put in the _appearance_ of working hard, so in the meantime, the work they can’t cover gets pushed to my desk.”

Ren’s eyebrows had crept upwards, disappearing under his bangs. Goro straightened and smiled, tapping his spoon twice on the lip of his cup before putting it down on the saucer. “Excuse me,” he said, lifting the drink as he did. “That was quite unpleasant of me, wasn’t it?” He laughed and took a sip of his coffee, which was still too bitter. “The stress is getting to me a little, I think.”

“It’s fine,” Ren said. He reached up and fiddled with his glasses, and when he lowered his hand he was perfectly neutral again. “I already knew most cops weren’t exactly paragons of justice.”

Goro let out a single barking laugh, sounding like a fucking seal, before he could stop himself. “You’re definitely not wrong,” he said, putting his coffee down a little too hard. “It’s even uglier from the inside.”

“Then….” Ren paused, still as stone, eyes darting to some far off point before landing back on Goro. “Why do you still work with them?”

For a moment Goro felt winded -- but before he had to think of an answer, the waitress returned and with her, the need for Goro’s mask of choice. “Ah, thank you,” he said kindly, as she put his salad down in front of him. Her ears were red.

“Of course,” she said, but didn’t leave, hovering at the edge of their table with her hands bunching up in her apron. “Um, I hope this isn’t rude, but…. Are you Akechi Goro?”

He laughed a little sheepishly, the pleasant cadence of the noise something for just the two of them and Ren, watching the interaction with steady eyes. “Keep it a secret?” he said, ducking his head to look up at her from under his lashes. “I’m trying to get a little studying done today, so….”

“Of course!” she said, chipper but at least having the decency to be quiet about it. “Just, um…. My sister is a fan of yours, so could I get an autograph? Just to prove I met you!”

At least she hadn’t asked for a picture; Goro was under no illusions regarding the state of his face at the moment. “Of course,” Goro said, and reached into his bag for one of the pieces of scrap and a pen that he kept specifically for these situations. He scrawled out his name and held it out to her. “Give her my regards.”

The waitress took it and clutched it tightly to her chest. “Oh -- y-yes, I will!” she said, face flushed. “Um, and maybe, if it’s not too much trouble, just… just one more? For me?”

This time the smile that Goro gave her came a little easier. “It’s no trouble at all,” he said. Her name tag read Sawa, and so at the top he scrawled _Dear Sawa -- Thank you for all the support! I hope you’ll continue to think of me,_ before signing his name once again. “Here you are.”

She took it with a red face, and as she read a smile spread across her features, wide and warm with genuine pleasure. “Th-thank you,” she said, and she’d clutched the first one but this one she held carefully between her two hands, as if it were a rare and priceless artifact. “Thank you so much, Akechi-kun, I really mean it! I’ll let you get back to your friend now, but thank you!”

She scurried away before Goro could say anything in return; he watched her dart into the kitchen with the two papers still carried so preciously. “Someone’s popular,” Ren said, and when Goro looked over Ren had a tiny smile on his face.

“Ah--” Goro said, and then laughed a little bit. He hadn’t _forgotten_ Ren was there, necessarily, but Ren had a way of fading into the background that made it easy for the people around him to act as if he didn’t exist, and even Goro fell victim to it sometimes. “I suppose you could say that.”

“It was sweet,” Ren said. “What you did for her.”

“It was nothing,” Goro said. The papers were filched from the printer at the station; the pen was a sharpie he’d stolen from a TV studio once. Keeping fans happy kept him popular; one positive tweet could go viral and validate all the people who’d supported him. She was doing more for him than he’d done for her. He smiled his TV smile and said, “Anything for a fan!”

Ren’s smile grew a millimeter. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Can I get an autograph too, then?”

This startled a more genuine laugh from Goro; he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Are you saying you’re a fan of mine?”

Ren shrugged, ducking his head down a little but not breaking eye contact. “I mean, I’ve read your blog.” Goro laughed again; even under the glasses he could see Ren’s eyes crinkling minutely at the corners. “Though usually I just scroll down to the pictures.”

Goro absolutely refused to think about the implications of that sentence. “In that case,” he said, and pulled out a third slip of paper to sign. He scribbled quickly, angling his other arm so Ren couldn’t see, and then held it out between two fingers. “For you.”

Ren plucked it from his fingers, and then snorted. _To Ren. It’s alright to admit that reading kanji is too difficult for you. --Akechi Goro._ It was written entirely in hiragana, even Goro’s name; the two ten of the _Go_ were little stars. “I’ll cherish it forever,” Ren said solemnly, tucking it into his notebook and not hiding the way his lips were still tilting up.

Goro grinned, and shook his head, and reached to the side of the table so he could pull a pair of chopsticks out of their container. “You’re ridiculous.”

“From you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Goro laughed as he mixed his salad, but didn’t answer. They sat in a comfortable silence as Goro took a few bites of his food, and then once the strange lightness that laughing with Ren had brought him had faded, he refocused. “I really did want to speak to you about Kamoshida, though,” he said. “Well, more accurately….” He pushed his lips into a mild frown. “About the situation leading up to the confession.”

“You mean that card,” Ren said, and just like that any and all amusement fell away. He leaned forward, resting his chin on curled fingers that obscured his mouth, glasses catching the light.

It was such a transparent attempt at a mask that Goro was almost endeared by it. “Yes,” he said, and then rolled the words in his mouth a moment before he let them slip out like marbles, clattering all over the table: “And the Phantom Thieves.”

He hadn’t been prepared for how strange it would feel to say that name out loud, after all this time. It felt as though he’d just invited the Metaverse in to sit with them at the table, the strange thick air of it juxtaposed with the bright lights of the diner -- and he had to sit here like he had no idea, like he’d never heard of Palaces or Mementos or Personas, as if cognitive pscience was just a fancy term for some pseudoscience he’d only barely heard of.  

But he had a goal to accomplish today; Goro swallowed the worst of his disorientation back and watched Ren, whose shoulders had remained a single unbroken line. “Do you know anything about them?” he asked, not letting his focus slip.

Ren gave a little half-shrug. “Not really,” he said. “Just the stuff they wrote on the card.”

“Is that so,” Goro said, letting his chopsticks dangle from his hand and deliberately letting his frown deepen. “And you didn’t see anything? Or hear anything about them? Even rumors would be helpful at this point.”

“I’m surprised the cops care about this,” Ren said.

Goro smiled and let it sit on his face like a razor wire. “They don’t,” he said. “But I do. Nothing at all, Ren?”

Ren’s fingers curled on his face, just for a moment, and then he leaned back in his seat, smiling and not meeting Goro’s eyes. “I didn’t hear much,” he said, a pinch to the side of his mouth. “I’m not really popular at school, so….”

“The adoration of the masses is fickle,” Goro said, and for a moment his mind took a step back to those hot summer months, where all he’d done was sit on TV and listen to people lambast him endlessly. “You’re certain you know nothing at all?”

Ren’s pinched smile didn’t waver. “They hate Kamoshida,” he said, “and they stole his heart. Other than that? No. I’m trying to keep my head down.”

“Is that so,” Goro said, watching Ren watch him. For a moment, despite the bustle of the diner around them, the world felt still. Not for the first time, Goro wondered what Ren might read on his face. For his own part, Goro’s eyes drank up every inch of Ren they could find, cataloguing the tightness of his jaw, the too-loose lines of his shoulders, the light catching on his glasses that didn’t quite obstruct his eyes.

“Why _are_ you so interested, anyways?” Ren said, voice lowered so barely he might not have even noticed he was doing it. “You’re not even on the case.”

And here it was, the perfect opportunity to lay some groundwork dangled right in front of Goro’s face. Still, he’d have to step carefully to avoid making any mistakes regarding what he was or wasn’t supposed to know here, so he squashed down the flare of triumph that lit up in his chest before it could distract him and let his eyes drift away -- but not so far they couldn’t see Ren in the peripherals, of course. “It’s… interesting, I suppose,” he said, slowly. “The idea of stealing a corrupt desire.”

Ren was still watching him intently; Goro had always done best with an audience. He sighed, put his chopsticks down, and rested his hands on the table instead. “I wonder how they did it,” he said. “The most logical explanation is blackmail, but….”

“But?”

Goro smiled, and let his exhaustion linger at the edges of it. “But it’d be nice if they really could just… magically make criminals feel guilty, I suppose.”  He couldn’t quite meet Ren’s eyes; he lifted his cup and held it in front of himself like a barrier. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ren shift and lean forward. “The idea of a group that can topple those stomping all over the people around them has its appeal.”

“Is someone stomping on you?”

Goro’s laugh was an ugly humorless thing. “Something like that,” he said, and when he took a sip of coffee he thought for a moment he smelled starstuff and brightness instead of the usual sharpness. It tasted like ash on his tongue. “It’s a long and complicated story.”

“I’ve got time,” Ren said, resting on his elbows against the table. “If you wanna share.”

“Maybe later,” Goro said, and finally he let his eyes find Ren’s again. Ren was watching him, intently, but when they looked at each other his features softened. It sent a strange feeling through Goro, to see that change. A part of him was annoyed by Ren hiding, and yet watching that mask go on was like looking into a mirror. _You understand,_ he thought. _You know what it’s like._

He looked down, picked up his chopsticks, took a bite. At least his salad tasted the way it was supposed to. “Regardless,” he said, “I’m curious to see what the Thieves do next.”

When he looked back up, Ren’s head had tilted minutely. “You don’t think that was a one-off?”

“If it is,” Goro said, “I’ll be quite disappointed.” There was a moment where Ren’s eyes widened a little, and then he snorted, grin widening as he looked at Goro. Goro let himself smile back. “Though I shouldn’t be saying that I hope a group calling themselves _thieves_ will continue their work.”

Ren snorted again. “I dunno,” he said, the curl of his grin resembling Joker’s, just a bit. “Detectives and phantom thieves sounds like a fun show.”

“Weren’t you just telling me I look overworked?” Goro shot back automatically, raising an eyebrow, and Ren laughed. For a moment they smiled at each other, and then the implications of what Ren had just said hit him and he felt his smile fade. As he leaned back into a seat far more comfortable than a television studio’s, he lifted his drink. “Besides,” he said into its surface, “if a power like that really _does_ exist, people with far more power than me are going to be interested in shutting it down.”

Ren’s smile faded too; the look he gave Goro was unreadable. “What do you mean?”

Goro took a sip of his drink. It seemed even more bitter than before. “Criminals are everywhere,” he said, placing it down on the saucer and reaching for another creamer. “Shujin is a microcosm of the larger world; people just like Kamoshida Suguru walk around unfettered every day, doing whatever they please for no other reason than because they can.

“And now imagine that a threat to that autonomy has emerged.” He stirred the cream into his drink slowly, listened to the clinking of his spoon against the porcelain. “Some mysterious power that could stop them in their tracks, ruin their lives beyond repair. They’d do anything to stop it.” He lifted the cup up. It still tasted burnt.

Ren’s mouth had twisted downward. “So the Thieves should just give up?”

“I didn’t say that.” Goro gave him a quick smile before growing serious once more. “But whatever they chose to do, they ought to be extremely careful. The truly powerful have ears everywhere, and never show mercy. All it would take is saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

“You think someone would kill the Thieves over this.” Ren’s voice was quiet and rock-steady. His mouth was a tight line; his eyes on Goro were laser-focused.

Goro put his drink down, and didn’t flinch. “People have killed each other over a lot less,” he said. “Trust me on this.”

Ren’s attention didn’t waver. For a moment they watched each other, and then out of the blue Ren said, “You’ve seen a lot of stuff, huh.”

 _I’ve_ done _a lot of stuff,_ Goro thought, and then felt ill. He couldn’t bring himself to answer; apropos of nothing his mouth tasted like wet blood. And yet his silence seemed to be answer enough for Ren, whose expression softened as he looked at Goro. “But if they’re careful, and they don’t get caught,” he said, “then….”

“Then they might be able to take down a lot of people who would otherwise continue unchecked,” Goro said. “Assuming it isn’t just blackmail, of course. Though, I can’t officially condone it either way.”

“And unofficially?”

Goro huffed out a tiny laugh. “Like I said, the idea has its appeal. I know I probably shouldn’t say this as someone who works in law enforcement, but…. There’s so much corruption in this world that the police can’t -- or won’t -- touch. It’s nice to think that there’s _someone_ out there doing their best to fight it.”

Ren sort of smiled at that, eyes downcast at the table. “Yeah,” he said. His finger was drawing tiny circles over and over on its surface. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“That does happen, on occasion,” Goro said. Ren’s momentary laughter seemed to startle even him; for a moment he seemed to hesitate around the shape of his smile before giving in, slumping forward once more to rest his elbows on the table, grinning up at Goro.

For his part, Goro’s own honest smile had crawled onto his face for a moment before he managed to tamp down at the edges, shaving off the worst of the ugliness. They watched each other for a moment, before Ren’s smile gentled into something softer. “You know,” he said, tilting his head to rest it on his shoulder, “I like your real smile too.”

Goro blinked. “Hm?”

“Just now,” Ren said. His voice was warm and easy. “You did that thing where you smiled and then fixed it to be more… photogenic, I guess. But I like it either way.”

And of course that made Goro’s face flush; his tongue stumbled and caught on his words as he said, “O-oh.” He was under no illusions about the way his stupid face looked when he wasn’t controlling it, of course. Even without all the other children (and some foster parents) who’d told him his smile looked like a madman’s, a minute in front of a mirror would’ve been enough for him to come to that conclusion on his own. “Ah, thank you, Ren.”

“I mean it,” Ren said. His hand came up and pushed through his hair; his smile had grown just a bit. “It’s cute.”

Goro laughed at that, a little too loudly; he could feel his entire face burning. “I -- Um, th-thank you, Ren,” he said, ducking his head in the futile hope his bangs could cover the worst of his blush. A hand came up to card through the hair at the back of his neck. “That-- That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Don’t thank me for telling the truth.”

Fucking hell, Goro couldn’t remember the last time he’d blushed so hard. He laughed again, just as awkwardly, unable to think of a response, reaching for his drink to have something to do with his hands. “Anyways,” Ren said, and finally Goro managed to meet his eyes again. He was still smiling but he’d straightened back up, leaning back a little in his chair. “I know you’ve got your own work, but wanna study together anyways? Since we’re here.”

“Ah -- Alright,” Goro said, putting his coffee down without even taking a sip. His cheeks finally felt like they weren’t on fire, at least. “That sounds like a good idea, actually. Even if we can’t help each other, I’d appreciate the company.”

Ren smiled at him. “Cool,” he said, tugging his things back out from the pile he’d left them in. “I hate doing homework alone.”

“In that case,” Goro said, even as he began to rummage into his own bag for school things, “if you ever want company, just let me know. I focus better when there’s other people around as well. Of course, I might not always be able to make it,  but… I enjoy spending time with you, Ren.”

Ren’s smile curled up just that much more. “Me too,” he said, head ducking just a little, and he had a piece of hair tangled up around his finger again. “I’m, uh. I’m glad we’re friends.”

And oh, didn’t that make Goro’s breath catch in his chest? He could practically hear his own voice: _If only we’d met just a few years earlier --_ and of course this wasn’t a genuine thing, not really, not with all the lies that poured out of his mouth, but….

It was nice, he thought. To pretend.

He smiled at Ren, and said, “So am I."

* * *

 

It was 4:12 in the morning, two days after exams finished, when the the phone call came. Goro rolled over, squinted at his phone screen, and said, loudly, “What the fuck.” His voice was only barely audible over his ringtone. Shit, his neighbors were going to be pissed, weren’t they?

He grabbed his phone and glared against the brightness to see -- oh. Why the hell was Sakura Futaba calling him at four in the morning? For all that they’d settled into an easy camaraderie over text, he’d never once heard her voice. He let himself groan, loud and annoyed, before answering and lifting it to his ear. “Hello?” he said, more irritated than he’d meant to sound. Well, it _was_ four in the morning, a little irritation was reasonable.

She didn’t respond. Goro reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Futaba-san,” he said, trying to keep the bite out of his tone. “Did you mean to call me?”

Still nothing. Goro waited, and then sighed, and then as he went to pull the phone away from his ear there was a tiny sob from the phone line. Instantly he sat up, pushing aside exhaustion to focus on the task at hand. “Futaba-san?” Goro said again. “What’s wrong?”

And again she said nothing -- but now that Goro was listening, he could hear the faintest noises from the other line, too-fast breaths and the barest hint of whirring. “You’re not answering me,” he murmured, squinting at the wall across from him, trying to force his brain to work harder. “Because… you can’t?”

There was another noise from the speaker, a quiet sniff. He took it as a yes. “Alright,” he said, biting down hard at the end of his sentence to kill a yawn in the cradle. “Then we’ll need some other means of communicating.” He closed his eyes, considering. “Yes or no questions, then. Rub your thumb against the mic to answer -- once for yes, twice for no. Understand?”

A crackling noise echoed through the line. _Yes._ Goro allowed himself a smile. “Alright,” he said. “Now….”

Now he had Sakura Futaba on the phone, nonverbal but clearly distraught, and with no means of getting information from her other than guessing at random and then waiting for her to confirm. What a headache. Still, Goro was a detective for a reason, no matter how many of his cases were rigged. He was certain he could figure this out.

“So,” he said. Best to start with the standard questions. “Are you injured?” Two rubs. _No._ “Are you in any immediate physical danger?” A pause this time, and then a _No._ Not encouraging, and trying to figure out the reason for the hesitation could be difficult. Still, there was nothing to do but keep guessing.

“Are you at home? In your room?” he asked. _Yes_ and _yes._ “Where is Sakura…? You can’t answer that. Is he in the house with you?” _Yes._ “Alright.” Goro’s body had begun listing to the side; he forced himself a little straighter. “Is _he_ in any immediate danger?” _No._ “Do you want me to get him for you?” There was a tiny muffled noise, almost like a sob, and then a frantic rustle of static, so many times he couldn’t count.

“Alright,” Goro said, hurriedly, “I won’t, I won’t.” Another awful little noise, but the static subsided, so he counted it as a win.

“So,” he continued, “you’re uninjured, but something is wrong. Sakura isn’t hurt, but you don’t want him to leave his room. Is there anyone in the house besides the two of you?”

There was a long, long pause. “Futaba-san?” Goro said, and there was another whimper. He sucked in his cheek and bit on the skin, and then repeated himself just to be sure. “Are you and Sakura-san the only people in the house right now?” Another long, long pause. Fuck. Okay. “Perhaps… you can’t tell if there is or not. Is that correct?” A burst of static.

Goro closed his eyes. Shit. He shoved his covers to the side and then stood, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he began to shove his pajama pants off. “Why do you think there might be someone there….” he said, reaching for the uniform pants he’d left hung neatly over his desk chair the night before. “You can’t see them, so… can you hear someone? A voice, perhaps? Or just a noise.” He shook his head. “Ignore that. Can you hear anyone’s voice besides mine?”

 _Yes._ He tugged the oversized t-shirt he wore to sleep off his head and used the moment where his phone wasn’t by his mouth to hiss, “ _Fuck.”_ He’d kept tabs on the Sakuras before, when he’d first learned about Ren in that other life, but he’d never heard anything about a break-in. Had this happened before, and simply gone unreported? Or was this yet another thing Goro had managed to change by the mere fact of his existence?

He tugged his uniform shirt on, switching the phone between hands. By now the trains had stopped running; Goro would have to bike unless he called the station to give him a lift. “Do you want me to call the police?” Her answer was faster than it’d been all night: _No._ Bike it was, then. He had to look in the mirror to do up his buttons one-handed; his face was drawn and pale. In the darkness he looked like a ghost.

“I’m on my way, then --” and before the sentence had even finished leaving his mouth there were another two bursts of static, and another muffled noise. “Futaba-san,” he said, in his best detective voice -- not his Detective Prince voice, but the voice he used when he was actually doing casework, stern but not unkind. “If there’s someone breaking into your house, then --”

Another pair of bursts. Goro, halfway through pulling his socks on, paused. “There’s.... You don’t think there’s someone in your house?” No answer; Goro rephrased the question: “Do you think someone is breaking into your house?” _No._ “But there’s the possibility of someone else inside with you.” A single burst -- and then a second, very slowly. Goro held the phone away from his mouth to blow out an irritated breath. “Alright,” he said, pulling on his other sock, but pausing by his desk. “I’m going to review the facts. If I get something wrong, please interrupt me.

“You’re alone in your room. Sakura-san is not there. You think you hear someone, but you also… don’t think anyone else is in the house. Do you think it’s a phone call?” _No._ Beyond that, no response. Goro frowned, and started over. “You hear someone,” he said. Nothing. “There is almost certainly no one in the house aside from you and Sakura-san.” Again, no response. His free hand, still un-gloved, curled on the desk. How could she be hearing something and yet be nearly positive the source of the noise did not exist --

And suddenly, phrased like that, it hit him. Perhaps.... “Futaba-san,” he said, “do you have a history of hallucinations?”

One burst of static. _Yes._

Goro closed his eyes, felt the worst of the tension leave his body. Alright. She wasn’t in any danger beyond what she might do to herself, and she’d clearly called him for a reason. He was completely and utterly out of his depth here, but that was fine. His whole life was a study in figuring things out on the fly and still coming out on top. He cast his mind around, trying to remember if he knew something, anything at all about the situation that might be useful here.

Wasn’t there a movie he’d seen once, about some mathematician who had hallucinations? He’d seen them and heard them, but he hadn’t been able to touch them. Perhaps they were all like that, divvied up by each one of the senses; perhaps if Goro could whittle them down to their essentials he could help her deal with them.

“Are they generally visual?” he asked. _No._ “Physical? That is, can you touch them?” _No_ . “Auditory?” _Yes_ . “Olfactory, or -- I mean, can you smell them, or, uh, taste them?” _No._ Alright. Just auditory, then. Goro closed his eyes and leaned a little bit of his weight against his desk.

What could she be hearing, he wondered, before giving his head a little shake. That approach wouldn’t work, he’d need more information than blind guesswork to figure that out. All he could do now was symptom management; if she was hearing things that meant he had to give her something else to listen to, something she could trust was real.

“Alright,” Goro said aloud. “Futaba-san, you looked at your phone to call me. You touched it to dial my number. Even if you can’t trust your ears, you can trust that those two things happened. So my voice is not a hallucination. If you ever doubt that, pull back the phone and check to see that this call is still going. Do you understand?”

A burst of static. “Good,” he said, and as he did he reached up to undo his uniform shirt once more. “Now, regarding your last message, I can’t say I necessarily agree with the argument that Eternal’s White and Reversed’s Red share the same purpose in terms of team dynamics. After all, though I will admit that Runako is generally the heart of the team, she’s ultimately the leader, which means….”

Goro talked, and talked, and talked. He rehashed every argument they’d ever had about Featherman, rambled about his caseload down at the station, went over all the topics his classes had covered in the last month. Sometimes he’d ask her a question, a quick yes or no, but mostly Goro spoke, letting his voice fill the air in the hopes it’d drown out whatever else she was hearing.

He’d long since gotten back in his futon when he heard a long unbroken bunch of static. “Futaba-san,” he said, switching tracks immediately, “are you alright?” There was a long pause, and then a single burst of static. _Yes._ “Are you still hallucinating?” _No._

Thank fuck. Goro’s voice had been getting hoarse; he’d begun to worry he might lose it entirely before she recovered. A glance out the window showed him it was verging on dawn, which meant he’d been talking basically non-stop for nearly two hours. “Good,” Goro said, stifling a yawn as exhaustion hit him all at once. “Do you still need me?” A pause, and then a _No._

“Alright,” Goro said, and yet for some reason it was difficult to pull the phone away from his ear. “Futaba-san….” He didn’t know what he planned on saying until the words were already out of his mouth: “I’m glad that you’re feeling better now.”

In a moment of bewildering clarity, he found that he meant it.

There was another sniff from the phone, and then a voice he’d known once spoke, very quietly. “ _Thank you._ ” It was hoarse and muffled and held none of the vibrancy he’d once known her to have -- but for the first time in months, he heard Futaba speak.

“You’re welcome,” he said, through a smile he was glad no one could see. Weary relief trickled slowly through his body as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. “Get some rest, alright? We’ll text more later.” Another burst of static. Well, he couldn’t win them all. “Sleep well, Futaba-san,” he said.

He had just enough presence of mind after hanging up to call his school, explaining that a case had suddenly come up and he wouldn’t make it to class today. That taken care of, Goro let his hand drop back down to his side, phone sliding from his grasp. He felt hollowed out, but not, strangely, in a bad way. He’d almost forgotten what it was like, to feel _not bad._

The sun was just beginning to peek through the edges of his curtains, not enough to keep him awake but present nonetheless. In that faint light, Goro closed his eyes, and slept dreamlessly.

* * *

 

Goro had climbed the steps leading into Shido’s building so often that he could see it even with his eyes closed: the perfectly pristine glass double doors, the _No Loitering_ sign on the wall, the silver handrail that had never once accumulated a scratch in all the years Goro had been coming here. He hated every goddamn inch of it. As the doors slid open he thought, not for the first time, about how it might feel to just throw a brick through them instead.

Every camera light was off. Goro had about thirty-three seconds left before they’d all come back on at once, but that was enough. He walked unhurriedly through the lobby, nodding at the man who’d come down the elevator before brushing past him to the stairs.

Shido’s office was thankfully not on the top floor, but it was close. Not for the first time, Goro climbed the stairs and wished the fucking elevators didn’t have cameras too. The ride was just long enough that he couldn’t make it in the sixty seconds Shido could turn off the cameras -- or rather, long enough he couldn’t cross the lobby, call the thing, and ride it as well. So stairs it was.

The only good thing was that all his extracurriculars -- cycling, bouldering, and of course his _other_ job -- meant he was in good shape. By the time he reached the top he was only mildly winded; he took a second to force his breath to level back out, and then emerged into the hallway.

At least here there weren’t cameras. Goro strode down the hall without worrying, expression carefully mild, and when he reached the door to Shido’s office he paused once more. He didn’t dare put his fingers on the handle just yet, not until he’d sunk down to where he needed to be. One breath, two, and then with everything muted and distant, he opened the door.

Shido was a stark relief against the darkness of the window. “Akechi,” he said, voice a watery blur. He gave the impression of looking down on Goro without changing his expression even the slightest bit. “Did you take care of what we discussed last time?”

Goro straightened and smiled as inoffensively as he could, despite the taste of blood in his mouth. “I did,” he said. “Akiyama and Monou have already shown results. Nakano hasn’t responded yet, but it shouldn’t be long now.”

“Good,” Shido said; even the upwards tilt of his lips looked more like a sneer than anything else. “I’ve already picked out your next assignments; I’ll need them done by the beginning of June.”

“Understood,” Goro said. He picked up the folder and flipped through it, committing names and faces to memory, even as Shido started talking about something or other. Another set of three, a woman and two men. If Goro was recalling things correctly, none of them had a Palace, either. Good. All that much easier for him to --

His eyes caught on a name. _Asou Haruka,_ the first name a single character that he’d seen attached to the first name of the person who’d been drowning his phone in notifications for the past four weeks. He paused, staring down at it; he could trace the lines of it in his sleep.

Shido’s words began to blend into some indistinct blur. Four days ago, he’d sat in his dark apartment and listened to soft stuttered sobs, scratchy through the phone line. Four days ago, he’d talked himself hoarse, of his own volition. Four days ago, Sakura Futaba had called him, and he’d answered, and now he was here, Shido’s voice in his ears and a file full of people whose lives he’d be ending by the end of the month.

He found himself wondering, in the part of his brain not submerged, if this was how Sakura Futaba felt, too. She had a Palace, after all. Her heart was strange and distorted the way Goro sometimes suspected his own was. Did she also breathe in without ever feeling like she could get enough air?  Were walls constantly closing themselves in on her, too?

Did she want to die as much as Goro did?

“Akechi.” Shido’s voice was almost gentle, and that was enough to make the hairs on the back of Goro’s neck stand on end. He’d drifted just a touch too far, untethered instead of merely distant. “What did I just say?”

“We were discussing the targets, sir,” Goro said, crisp and pleasant.

It wasn’t enough. “What _exactly_ did I say?”

Goro shifted and then looked away, remembered at the last second to slide a facsimile of embarrassment over the motion to cover the weakness. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, voice meek but not too meek. “I missed it.”

“You missed it.”

Once, long long ago, Goro had heard that certain species of animals saw eye contact as a form of aggression. It was something he thought about, occasionally, when he and Shido came face to face. “Yes,” Goro said, watching Shido’s knees instead of the ground. He’d never been hit by Shido before, but this second go-around was proving itself to be full of all sorts of new and terrible experiences. “I’m very sorry, sir. Exams were quite difficult this time, and I still haven’t fully recovered.”

“Is that so.” It wasn’t a question. “What a trial that must’ve been, hm?” His voice had only grown more and more mocking. “You know, Akechi-kun,” he said, and paused long enough that Goro looked up. Shido was not quite sneering, head tilted back, eyes cold. “You know,” he said again. “No one has any interest in your excuses. There are students all over Tokyo who do exactly what you do, go for exams and then straight to work, and you don’t see _them_ too tired to pay attention to their betters, do you?”

 _You’re not my better_ flashed through Goro, quickly followed by _and none of them have to work half as hard as I do anyways,_ but he wasn’t stupid enough to say any of that aloud. “Of course, sir,” he murmured placatingly. “It was my fault. I apologize.”

“And?” Shido said, not giving a goddamn inch.

“And I’ll do better next time.” It was not ground out. He smiled and let his head tilt and thought of how good Shido would look weeping on the ground, knowing exactly what Goro was doing to him.

“See that you do,” Shido said, already turning away with the arrogance that only someone convinced of their own invincibility could have. “And remember, the real world isn’t half as kind as I am.”

Goro laughed, pleasant and agreeable. “Of course. Thank you, sir.”

Shido didn’t acknowledge that in any way. “Get the hell out of my sight,” he said to the window; Goro pushed open the door without looking away from Shido, and when he breathed he was surprised it was air.

He spent the trip home staring blankly at his own reflection: in those glass doors, in the dark windows of the subway, in the safety mirror at the corner of the road leading up to his building. Silhouetted and dark, he couldn’t make out his own features at all. If there was a person looking back at him, Goro couldn’t tell.

By the time he reached his apartment, he felt hollowed out. He shut the door behind him and kicked his shoes into a pile, not bothering to turn on the lights before he pulled out his phone. “Sakura Futaba,” he said. “Sakura Sojiro’s house.”

His phone chimed twice. Goro let his head tilt sideways, leaning against the wall. The only brightness in the room came from the rectangle of his screen and the line shining in from under the door. “A coffin.” Nothing. He slumped more of his weight onto the wall. “A grave.” No good. He was so tired of standing; he slid down the wall in jumble of limbs and didn’t care that his hair was undoubtedly a mess now. “A tomb.”

His phone chimed. Goro closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay with posting.... at least it's longer than the other chapters?
> 
> some notes  
> -aside from a select few, all oc names were picked by alm! yamamura is.... some conan ref i think. asou is a politican.  
> -spot the clamp reference and i'll let you name the next oc i kill  
> -re:kanji + hiragana: japanese has three alphabets. hiragana is the syllabic alphabet that shows you how to pronounce things, while kanji is the character alphabet that denotes the different word meanings (e.g., 'chopsticks' and 'bridge' are both written with the same hiragana 'hashi', but the kanji for the two wrods is different). you learn hiragana in 1st grade but you pick up new kanji for a long time after; typing only in hiragana implies a young/childish audience haha  
> -re:haruka + futaba: the second kanji in futaba's name (葉) can be read as haruka and doubles as a given name for women. hence the above.
> 
> follow me on twitter @yuunamakis for writing updates or @hirokiyuus to see my friends drag me wildly
> 
> comments/kudos are always greatly appreciated! :)


	7. chapter six: should've built a wall and not a bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Masks are worn, despite the cost. Akechi Goro tries a different blend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all my luv 2 the sweetest of nuts and the tastiest of fruits for the beta + final proofread respectively!
> 
> chapter title from [we are all accelerated readers ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UlcdGWo9IeQ) by los campesinos!
> 
>  
> 
> **please mind the suicidal ideation tag this chapter!**

He’d expected a cemetery, or a temple, or even a Western-style mausoleum, and so the desert that sprawled out endlessly before him left him blinking from more than just the sun. He double-checked his phone screen, but the keywords were exactly the same as they’d been when he’d spoken them into his phone just moments ago: _Sakura Futaba, Sakura Sojiro’s house, a tomb._

What part of a desert resembled a tomb? He frowned, double-checking once more -- and as he did he realized his hands were clad in simple black leather. His frown deepened. He looked down to see his school uniform; he reached up and felt nothing resting on his face.

Alright. He swallowed. So he wasn’t a threat, then. He could still feel Robin Hood and Loki in the back of his head, at least, so he didn’t have to worry too much about being defenseless even without his weapons. This was… probably for the best. For whatever reason, she trusted him in her head.

(Something about that thought made him feel a little sick.)

Whatever. He was burning daylight. He shoved his phone away and then squinted out at the desert. Nothing immediately caught his eye, so he turned around slowly, looking in every direction as hard as he could -- and finally his eyes caught on the faintest glint of _something_ in the distance. The heat rising off the ground in waves distorted any detail, but aside from the endlessly rising and falling sand there appeared to be nothing blocking Goro’s way forward.

Well, nothing but sand and distance. Goro’s mouth twisted down as he eyed the walk. He’d had to do plenty of awful things in Palaces before, but he honestly wasn’t sure he’d ever had to just… hike. This was going to be a test of endurance, and with the way the sun was beating down on him, he was already dreading it.

Still, there was nothing to be done. It wasn’t like _he_ could magically transform into a bus or whatever, and there was absolutely no way he was inviting the Phantom Thieves into Futaba’s head. It was still too early for them to know about his involvement in the Metaverse, and more than that there was something about the idea of letting them in here, letting them see the parts of her he’d had to look in a mirror to recognize, that made something strange crawl through his gut.

He shoved the feeling away, forced himself to focus on the goal at hand. He’d walk. It would suck. He’d survive.

Goro slipped off his coat and held it above his head; the long sleeves underneath were left rolled down and he didn’t touch his gloves or any of the rest of his clothes. It was miserably hot and he could already tell his arms would ache by the end of this from holding the thing up, but it was better than a sunburn. They’d be switching to summer uniforms after all, and there was no way he would let himself be seen with a burn.

Ignoring the way sweat was already soaking through his shirt and his bangs were clumping wetly on his forehead, Goro began to walk. It was hot and awful, and the sand was nearly impossible to get a foothold in -- more than once he found himself sliding backwards down a dune, and at one point actually fell over. Sand caught in all the seams of his clothes and he could feel it rub with every step he took, and by the time his goal had shifted into something a little more than a glint on the horizon, he was exhausted and miserable.

Still, he could finally see the building he guessed was her actual Palace. The pyramid was still small at this distance, but at the rate he was going he’d probably reach it sooner than he’d initially thought, thank fuck. But -- why a pyramid? He hadn’t realized she had such an interest in Egypt. Should he try to bring it up with her the next time they spoke?

No, he thought, mouth twisting down. If the concept was already so tied up in her distorted cognition that it gave shape to her Palace, pulling it to the surface could only hurt.

Regardless, now he had a destination in sight, and watching the thing grow larger and larger made the trek feel infinitely less punishing. Details resolved themselves the further he went: crumbling scaffolding littered the nearby sands; barren trees grew desperately in the pyramid’s faint shade; a single opening rested halfway up like the maw of some gaping beast. Goro catalogued every part of it he could see with care, taking mental notes for any possible emergencies later. Nothing was outwardly useful, but perhaps when he grew closer….

Or so he’d hoped, but even at the base, there didn’t appear to be anything he could use. The only other entrance seemed to be a door tucked into the floor nearby, and it was locked up, with no ways to break in that Goro could see. In the far off distance lay a town, but Goro looked at the kilometers that lay between him and it, and decided that could be Plan B.

No reason to delay, then. Goro pulled his coat back on -- keeping his hands full while walking into a Palace sounded like idiocy of the highest degree, regardless of the heat -- smoothed out his hair, and then climbed inside.

He’d been expecting the crumbling stone walls and the dust covered floors -- the pulsing symbols adorning the walls surprised him only for the time it took him to connect their glow to that of a computer monitor’s. The dimness was refreshing after the bright desert sun outside, and it was cooler, too. It would’ve almost been relaxing, if it weren’t for the way that he’d entered only to immediately feel some unseen pair of eyes zero in on him.

Luckily, years of remaining cool under pressure ensured that Goro didn’t tense up. He crossed through the entranceway calmly, jumped easily across the unsteady platforms leading across a pit in the center, and came to an easy stop at the base of an enormous flight of stairs, all without encountering even a single Shadow -- but the feeling of being watched had only grown stronger.

Goro gave himself a second to recalibrate, forcefully slowing his breath and running his hands through his hair once more before taking the chance to reassess his location. In front of him, the staircase seemed to extend almost endlessly; at the very top he could just barely see a door with the same faint glow as the symbols on the walls. Past that was the Treasure, probably, but the fact that it seemed unguarded did nothing for the unease running down Goro’s spine. He still had yet to find any backdoors to this place, and having to walk around so openly was making him feel --

“Feather Swan.”

He couldn’t help the breath he sucked in or the way his shoulders stiffened up, but all the same when he turned around he was careful to paste an expression of only mild surprise on his face. The figure behind him was the only spot of true color around: bleached orange hair a beacon in the dark, the whites and golds of her clothes shimmering under torchlight, unblinking yellow eyes fixed on him intensely.

“Pharaoh,” Goro said, giving Futaba’s Shadow a respectful nod as he did.

She didn’t nod back. Her eyes crawled over him, with a gaze that would’ve been distant if it weren’t for the intensity he could feel leaking from it. “Why are you wandering about?”

“Forgive me,” Goro said, even as the implications of her words sunk in and made him feel even more unsteady. So there was a cognitive version of him in this place, too. “I’m afraid I’ve somehow managed to get a little turned around.”

Her expression once more remained unchanged as she continued to stare at him. That lack of movement struck him as deeply unsettling. _Rigor mortis_ flashed across his mind, and Goro had to swallow back the shudder that accompanied the thought.

Finally she raised a hand. “Slave,” she said, and no sooner had the word left her mouth than a Shadow fell from the darkness above, landing in a heap before pulling itself up, and up, and up. It towered above the both of them, its red eyes burning like embers under its mask, all its focus pinned to Goro. “Take him back to where he belongs,” Futaba commanded. “Ensure he stays there.”

The Shadow gave her a deep, silent bow, but Futaba didn’t even glance at it, eyes still fixed on Goro. “ **Come,** ” the Shadow said, voice a deep rumble that made Goro’s ears hurt.

Goro moved forward slowly, watching the thing out of his peripherals, not letting his eyes shift from Futaba. Closer and closer he moved, until he was so near that another step would’ve let them touch, and that was where he stopped. The Shadow had already turned and begun moving back towards the pyramid, and for a moment it was simply the two of them, face to face.

She was too thin, he thought, and too pale. Her cheekbones seemed to stick out awkwardly on her face; glancing down at her bare stomach showed her ribs in clear definition. Her chest was still. Goro looked at the living corpse in front of him, and before he could stop himself he opened his mouth and said, “Futaba-san--”

It was as if she had never even been there in the first place. One moment he was staring into yellow eyes and the next there was nothing, not even footprints left in the dirt. Goro’s mouth hung open for just a moment more before slowly closing.

Why the fuck had he even done that, anyways? What purpose would that have served, even if she had responded? He was already here in her Palace, after all. He’d fix her warped cognition, she’d be grateful to him, she’d help him with Shido’s Palace, and then they’d never meet again. He didn’t -- He shouldn’t --

“ **Vizier**.”

Goro jumped. The Shadow had turned back for him; it was staring fiercely, eyes burning just that much brighter as it watched Goro. “ **Do not delay. The Pharaoh has given us her commands, and we must follow them.** ”

“Of course,” Goro murmured. “Forgive me.” He stepped forward to follow behind, and the Shadow turned, and Goro forced the unease out of his mind. It had been a stupid mistake, that was all. He could beat himself up over it later.

The Shadow led him back towards the pit; it tapped a certain segment of the wall just next to it and a secret door opened up, stairs spiralling downwards into darkness. It didn’t hesitate to enter and so Goro didn’t either, stepping unflinchingly into the passageway. The stairs weren’t very long, at least, and it didn’t even take ten minutes before the Shadow hit another hidden switch and they spilled into the light.

Unlike the ones above, this corridor was not unoccupied. Snuffling dogs all wrapped in bandages stopped their patrols to watch Goro pass by with their ears pressed closed to their head, growling faintly all the while. Goro stuck close to his guard as they walked by, but none of them lunged, and before long they’d passed through the thin winding hallways.

The room they emerged into was less dilapidated than the rest of the rest of the pyramid; the three stone walls were unchipped and free of dirt, while the bars that made up the fourth wall were gleaming. Beyond the archway they’d walked through, there were no traditional entrances or exits that Goro could see, but above them on the opposite wall was a shallow ledge with an opening to one side. Other than that, there was nothing in the room beyond the coffins lining the walls.

Wait. The coffins.

The Shadow stepped forward, but Goro didn’t -- couldn’t -- move. He watched the Shadow cross the room from some far off point, saw its clawed hands come to rest on the lid of a certain coffin. (The figure on the coffin had features indistinguishable from the others lining the room, but in one hand it held a cell phone, and in the other a familiar briefcase. The part of Goro still connected to his body recognized nausea bubbling faintly in his stomach.) The Shadow gave one tug, two, and then the lid crashed to the ground.

The face of the figure inside was too young. His cheeks were soft and round, eyelashes fluttering delicately against corpse-pale skin, tragic and beautiful. Elegant hands were crossed over a still chest decorated in blues in golds -- a bastardized Featherman uniform, Goro realized distantly. It made him look like a hero.

He wasn’t, though. Goro knew better than anyone. He looked at his own sweet corpse lying in front of him, and wondered how the fuck anyone could possibly see him this way.

“ ** _YOU!_** ” The Shadow’s snarl broke through Goro’s thoughts. Darkness swirled around it, the edges of its bandages catching in that unnatural wind, and the light in its eyes had erupted into a bright fierce gaze that pierced through Goro. “ **_HOW DARE YOU COME HERE, SO BRAZENLY WEARING THE FACE OF OUR PHARAOH’S VIZIER!_** ”

Even as it spoke, Goro felt magic crawling its way down his body, belts winding their way over his waist, a helmet solidifying over his face, his jagged and bloody sword appearing in his hand. “ ** _SHAMELESS THIEF!_** ” the Shadow spat, bandages ripping away from its body. “ **_YOU WILL DIE WHERE YOU STAND!_** ”

And with that its form dissolved, body puddling into nothingness on the ground before shooting back up, reshaping itself in a matter of moments. The thing that emerged was the same shape as the coffins all around them, though it lacked the ornamentation, and from under its lid ten blackened fingers extended, clenched tightly to the side. It dangled midair, shuddering lightly, and Goro readied his sword.

Funny, he thought. It had been a long time since the prospect of a fight left him feeling so sick to his stomach.

He darted in before the Shadow could move, taking a hard swipe at its side. The thing screamed, its voice simultaneously painfully high and terrifyingly low all at once, and the reverberation of the noise echoed hard in Goro’s bones. Still, he didn’t waste time reaching up to clap a hand over a bare ear -- (a what?) -- and took another swing instead, lopping off two of those fingers as he did. They hit the ground and dissolved into dust, but before Goro could move in for a third swing there were claws in his side, sharp and hot, dragging him back.

Goro let them, and then used the momentum they gave him to keep going, only stopping to reassess when he was almost certainly out of range. A pair of Lamia had slithered forward out of nothing; the one on the right reached up her bloody hand to lick it clean, while the one on the left looked just as eager to rip him to shreds.

A minor annoyance, at the most. One or three or thirty, it was all the same. He let Loki push to the front of his mind and hissed a single command: “ _Deathbound._ ”

His Persona swung out in a wide terrible arc, sword cleaving the Lamia clean in two and leaving an enormous gash across the coffin’s door. The thing screamed once more, but this time nothing emerged to help it.

Goro, meanwhile, hadn’t hesitated to shoot forward; he ducked under its desperate swing and stabbed forward, aiming straight for the crack Loki left behind. His blade sunk in neatly and the thing screamed again, but Goro didn’t relent, digging deeper and deeper and deeper --

And then there was nothing to dig into, the coffin dissolving into darkness. Goro barely pulled back in time to right himself, stumbling back a couple steps before straightening back up and sheathing his sword.

He didn’t feel victorious at all.

“ ** _FIND THE INTRUDER!_** ” Goro jerked up; there were footsteps echoing down the hall, drawing closer with every second. His eyes darted around wildly before he caught sight of that ledge from earlier, and he scrambled towards it, using one of the thankfully non-sentient coffins to help him up.

As he went his eyes caught on the coffin’s design: glasses, a goatee, one hand cradling a coffee pot. Goro’s foot slipped and for a moment he hung face to face with it, deeply aware that it would take no effort at all to dig his hands into the seam holding it closed to see what was inside -- but even as he thought that there was another shout, closer this time, and Goro pushed himself all the way up and onto the ledge before darting through the alcove to the left.

The passageway was grimy and just a touch too small for Goro’s shoulders; he had to wedge himself in sideways at a few points to make it through, but eventually he emerged into a wider space, the ledge he stood on only a few meters above slow sucking quicksand. Rickety platforms led the way across to a stronger looking stone floor where a Shadow paced back and forth, and then past that -- Goro felt his shoulders relax just a fraction. Two doors, one with that strange sheen to it that meant the room inside could bring him straight outside and away from here.

He didn’t even consider staying. Not with the exhaustion that had already settled deep in his bones, not with the blood still trickling down his side, not with the way Shadows were still crowing for his head. It wasn’t _practical._

(His hands were shaking, minutely. He couldn’t stop seeing that gentle face whenever he closed his eyes.)

Luckily, getting over there was no problem. He bent down to pick up a rock from the ground, and then jumped from platform to platform with ease. Before the Shadow could spot him, he flung the rock at the opposing wall, and then while its back was turned towards the noise, he darted behind it into the safe room, closing the door silently behind him.

It was only then that the adrenaline slowly began to drain from him. The cognition wobbled, just for a moment, and in that moment the wall on which he leaned against went from harsh stone to plain white plaster, the boxes around the table shivering between stone and cardboard. He moved over to collapse on one, and it took his weight easily; he rested his head on his hands and listened to the footsteps pacing outside.

His breathing refused to even out; his heartbeat didn’t quite slow. Sitting there, in a tomb that wasn’t real, Akechi Goro breathed, and breathed, and breathed.

* * *

 

The cheery ringing of Leblanc’s doorbell barely registered in Goro’s mind. At least the cafe was empty when Goro stumbled inside, Sakura sitting at the counter with a cigarette between his lips. “Hey, kid,” he said, standing as he saw Goro. “I’ll get a cup started.”

Goro’s tongue felt dry, his lips were cracked. He nodded on reflex as he took his usual seat. His clothes still clung to him, his hair still hung limply over his face. How stupid of him, he thought. He’d honestly just meant to come in and use the bathroom, wanted to fix up his face and wash the rest of the desert grime off his face. He should apologize to Sakura for the trouble, should get up and go--

“Here.” Goro blinked, straightened up. That had been much faster than he’d thought. Sakura was fixing him with an intent stare; he pushed the cup across the counter to Goro and left his hand resting on it until Goro’s eyes met his. “Now,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “wanna tell me why you just crawled in here looking like you just got dumped on your anniversary?”

“I’m not even dating anyone,” Goro said, automatically. His voice was hoarse and rasping; he tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. He let his eyes dip back down, tugged the cup a little closer, but didn’t lift it. “Do I really look that bad?”

Sakura snorted. “You’re definitely not up to your usual standards. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Goro ran an absent thumb down the handle of his cup. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you it was nothing, would you.” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t need all the dirty details, kid,” Sakura said. His voice had lost a little of its usual gruffness. “But you look like you could stand to get some stuff off your chest. I’ve been around awhile, you know. Whatever you’ve got to say, I doubt it’ll be the most shocking thing I’ve ever heard.”

 _If only you knew,_ Goro thought. And yet…. “Sakura-san,” he said, “do you ever wonder if everything you’ve done was a mistake?”

There was the rustle of fabric, some motion of Sakura’s Goro couldn’t bring himself to look at. “What brought this on?”

Goro gave a half-shrug, and tried to smile. It didn’t work. “Something… changed, recently, in my life.” He closed his eyes, let his head list to the side. “There was a goal I was working to, for years and years. One that I sacrificed quite a lot for. And yet… it turned out to be unattainable. Despite all that I’d given up, despite all the things I’d done....

“Still,” he said. He stared into the bottom of his cup and found nothing there but coffee. “I thought, perhaps, that I might be able to reach it another way. That I could still have what I wanted, that everything I’d done could pay off. But….

“Recently,” he said, watching his gloved hands tremble minutely. “I’ve been wondering if… if there’s a point to it all. If anything I’ve ever done is even… worthwhile.”

Funny, he thought. He hadn’t even known he’d been thinking about this until he said it out loud.

The cafe was quiet after that, sunlight filtering in through the open windows. It caught on the countertops, streaks of warmth lingering on the deep wood of the counters and catching on Goro’s arms. It made him look softer than he was. He thought of that face of his in Futaba’s Palace, thought of how gentle he seemed there, and felt his mouth twist.

“Well,” Sakura said, finally, voice slow and considering. “I can’t give you exact advice without all the details -- but I said I didn’t need them earlier, so I won’t ask.” Despite himself, Goro found his eyes closing, Sakura’s voice a steady point to anchor himself to. “But kid, you’re worn out to hell and back. Whatever you’re working for is eating you up.”

Goro’s shoulders drew in on themselves. “I’m not going to tell you to give up, or to keep going, not when I don’t know the nitty-gritty of what’s going on,” Sakura said. “But I’ll tell you this -- and maybe it’ll just come across as an old man’s preaching, but it’s something I wish someone would’ve said to me when I was your age.” His voice firmed up as he spoke: “You’re the one who has to live with what he’s doing. Twenty years from now, are you going to look back at this time in your life and be proud of it? Or ashamed?”

“I’m not going to live that long,” Goro said.

That hung quietly in the air between them. How stupid. No one wanted to hear about that. Goro hadn’t even meant to say it.

“...Kid,” Sojiro said, finally, and he suddenly sounded twenty years older. “If what you’re doing is making you think things like _that,_ then maybe that’s a sign you need to take a long hard look at yourself in the mirror.”

The cup in Goro’s hands was still warm. He breathed in the smell of it, let the heat of it press lightly on his cheeks. “Goro,” Sakura said, and it was such a surprise to hear his name that Goro looked up. Sakura’s face was drawn, but when his eyes met Goro’s there was nothing there like anger or boredom. Just some bone-deep weariness, and a gentle thing at the corners of his eyes that Goro couldn’t quantify. “Maybe you can’t think about twenty years from now. But you’re alive right now, aren’t you? So let me ask you this: what’ll let you sleep well tonight?”

“I…” Goro trailed off. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a genuine rest -- only that wasn’t true now, was it? Hadn’t he done so just a few days ago? Certainly, he’d been awake for hours late into that night, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that his lullaby then had been exhaustion. No, the thing that had smothered the burning static parts of his mind on that day had been that tiny voice, those two simple words of gratitude.

The knowledge crept over him like vines on a wall, slow and inexorable. Oh, he thought. So he cared for her, too. Not in the same way he cared about Ren -- not with that same terrible heat that buried itself in his ribcage when he saw minute smiles or a finger wrapped in a lock of curly hair -- but he cared about her all the same.

Somehow, the realization wasn’t a shock. He’d known it the same way he’d known the things he’d voiced to Sakura just a few minutes ago -- it was a distant truth he hadn’t voiced, even to himself, but a truth all the same. Familiar, foundational; in his heart the facts of it were already carved. Goro let his head tilt down, watched the blurred edges of Sakura’s figure through his bangs, and felt himself breathe.

“Maybe you can’t picture where you’ll be in twenty years. But as for right now, you’re here.” Sakura’s voice was hypnotizing. “So think about what’ll let you rest easy, here and now. What can you live with?”

Months ago, before Goro had started visiting here in earnest, he’d bought a book on brewing coffee. He’d read it obsessively, taken notes and memorized facts until he was able to regurgitate them in pleasant little soundbites, laughing politely as he did. He’d had to prove he _belonged_ here, after all.

Right now he sort of had the feeling he could’ve shown up gibbering nonsense, and Sakura still would’ve let him stay.

He lifted the cup he’d been cradling this whole time, and finally took a sip. The taste of it lingered on his tongue. Usually he preferred Ren’s brew, the subtle sweetness of it soft in his mouth -- but today something about the bitterness of Sakura’s felt better. He took another drink, felt the warmth of it as he swallowed. “Thank you, Sakura-san,” he said, his voice a whisper.

“No problem, kid,” Sakura said, still gentle. “Anytime you need to talk, just feel free.”

Goro drank, and sat, and felt the sun press itself against his hair. Sakura had sat down once more, opening his newspaper and occasionally flipping through the pages. No one opened the door; the phone didn’t ring; all of Leblanc felt frozen in time. A respite. A place to breathe.

Eventually he finished his drink, pushed it across the counter. “I’ll be back to pay in a moment,” he said, and at Sakura’s nod, took his briefcase and went to the bathroom.

No wonder Sakura’d pinpointed something was wrong. He was a mess -- he’d sweated off all of his makeup earlier, exposing the bags under his eyes and the line of acne on his hairline. He dug through his things to find the pouch kept near the bottom, pulled out his cosmetics and began the process of touching up. Layer by layer all his blemishes grew faint until they were ignorable, hidden from the world like all the rest of his flaws. He dusted over his face one last time to set the concealer in place, and then stuffed everything away before re-emerging into the cafe.

Sakura looked up from the counter where he was drying Goro’s cup. Goro stepped over, already digging through his wallet for exact change, but Sakura held up a hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Today’s on me.”

“Sakura-san --” Goro tried, but Sakura fixed him with a frown that left no room for arguments. “…Thank you.”

“One time deal,” Sakura said. “You can pay next time.”

Somehow, Goro smiled. It felt brittle on his face, a cracked and uncomfortable mask. “I will,” he said. Somehow, despite the drink, his voice was still rough. “I’m afraid I need to head home, though.”

Sakura’s eyes swept over him, but all he said was, “Alright. Sure you don’t wanna wait for the kid? He’ll be back soon.”

Goro’s eyes trailed to the door, and for a moment he imagined Ren’s silhouette there, all his edges softened by the afternoon light. “No,” Goro said, shifting his bag to his other hand. “I think -- I think for today I really ought to go home.” He looked back to Sakura and tilted his head. “Homework, you know. Someone told me my studies are important.”

Sakura’s eyebrows rose for a second, before he huffed out a tiny laugh, giving Goro a wry grin. “Sounds like a smart guy,” he said. “You should listen to him.”

“Very smart,” Goro agreed, and as Sakura’s grin shifted into something a little gentler Goro had to look away, lest he shatter all across Leblanc’s floor. “So --” Goro had to clear his throat -- “So, I’ll see you later.”

“See you around, kid,” Sakura said. Goro gave a little nod in Sojiro’s direction before slipping out the door.

The only thing he could hear on the walk to the station was the sound of his own footsteps. At one point he brushed shoulders with a stranger, and managed a quiet, “Excuse me.” Walking down the stairs he kept his hands on the side rails despite the grime; he couldn’t rely on his feet to keep him steady. There were empty seats on the train and he sunk into one gratefully, letting his eyes close as he did.

Two stops in his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and when he saw the name on the display his heart sank.

**Sakura Futaba:** hey nerd  
**Sakura Futaba:** top 5 dx blue moments go

_Feather Swan,_ her Shadow had called him. The Blue Ranger from Featherman Deluxe, the teen detective who would do anything for justice. He stared down at the screen and didn’t unlock it.

**Sakura Futaba:** helloooooo  
**Sakura Futaba:** goro????

His fingers refused to move. Every part of him felt scraped hollow as he stared down at the name on his screen. The part of his brain that could still focus on long-term goals was telling him to fucking suck it up and talk to her, but….

Goro hesitated long enough that the screen went dark. His face stared out from those black depths, reflected in the light; it was far too pale in contrast to the emptiness around it. He shivered; the stale air of the subway was as suffocating as the cavernous depths of her Palace. He tugged off a glove and reached up, rubbed a hand against the back of his neck and tried to pretend he wasn’t being reassured by the feeling of warm flesh under his touch.

He couldn’t figure it out. What made her want to die so badly? Goro knew why _he_ was a garbage person, but Futaba? Why was she trapped in that tomb? And the people buried with her -- tributes? Victims? Collateral damage? What was Sakura to her? What was _Goro?_

There was only one way to find out -- whether he liked it or not.

Still, he couldn’t go back to her Palace immediately. He’d put the whole place on high alert, after all, and it would take a few days for that to die down. While he was confident his battle abilities could push through whatever enemies he might encounter, there wasn’t any _need_ to, really. He was under no deadline here. He didn’t have to rush.

He tugged his gloves back on, fingers lingering at the vein on his wrist; his pulse was too fast. He measured out the beats the way he’d read online, counting out the spaces between, over and over until a pleasant voice overhead finally announced his stop. He stood casually, left the car a little bit more briskly than the average passenger. It wasn’t until he emerged into the spring light -- not too hot, not too cold -- that he could breathe.

* * *

 

He had to catch up on work, was the thing. His homework was beginning to pile up and his desk at the station had a few too many files sitting on it for comfort. Goro threw himself into it and spent the next days on autopilot, wearing the Detective Prince like a suit of armor. No one came close, no one reached underneath. Sae gave him a look, when they bumped into each other at the station, but didn’t question it; and when Futaba asked why he was responding so slow he told her he was going to be busier than usual for a little while. And so like that the days passed in a haze of pleasant smiles and conversations on autopilot, and underneath it all Sakura’s words continued to ring in his head.

It was entirely on accident when his eyes caught on a bright yellow in the middle of the station overpass, one day after school. Sakamoto, it seemed, couldn’t stand still for even a second -- he was shifting his weight side to side, a hand reaching up to scuff through his hair as a frown twisted his face. Tokyo had only grown more colorful over the years, but with his bright red clothes and bleached hair, he still stuck out like a nail waiting to be hammered.

Goro found his footsteps slowing. This was a good opportunity, he thought. He should take advantage of this.

He didn’t move. In the distance, Sakamoto straightened up, giving a bright grin and a wave as he was joined by a second and equally loud figure. Takamaki, it seemed, was a beacon in or out of the Metaverse; she and Sakamoto together were a pair of spotlights. How did they ever think they were being subtle, back in that time before? For a moment they chattered at each other, Takamaki planting her hands on her hips, Sakamoto rubbing the back of his head, and then his eyes widened as he gave another bright wave. Takamaki turned when he did, face lighting up, and then --

It hadn’t been very long since Goro had last seen Ren, not really, but somehow it felt like it’d been a thousand years. He ambled over to the rest of the Phantom Thieves, hands tucked in his pockets, the cat poking out of the bag on his shoulder to yowl something unintelligible at Sakamoto. Ren was smiling in that barely there way of his, the one you had to be looking for to see, as he fell into his place beside them.

Goro’s throat hurt. He should go over there, he should turn around and leave, he should _do_ something -- and yet his feet were anchored in place. Fish swam about his head, seaweed tangled in his fingers; the station had flooded and he was the only one who’d noticed at all.

Through the water he saw a fourth figure, stepping up to that far off group with an awkward gait. Kitagawa looked different than Goro remembered: too thin, a grim set to his mouth, and the bags under his eyes were deeper than a single night’s bad rest would have prompted. The others straightened up when they saw him, good cheer falling away. Oh, Goro thought. This was Phantom Thief business.

Really? After all Goro’s warnings, they were just going to have their meetings out in the open again? His mouth twisted down, and the thing that rose in his chest was too bitter and slow to be rage. What the fuck were they even doing?

He could stop this, though. He could go over, pretend he was saying hello to Ren and make a reference to their previous conversation; maybe he’d drop in a line about overhearing so that Ren would be a little more cautious. He could. He _should._

He exhaled. Bubbles streamed from his nose. His eyes burned from the salt. If he lifted his feet he would be unmoored, and then where would the currents take him? He would die. He would die. He would --

“Goro?”

He blinked the water from his eyelashes. Ren’s voice had echoed in his ears, clear as a bell; he stood in front of Goro with the rest of the Thieves trailing behind him, staring curiously. “Ah,” Goro said, voice a little too loud, and then he remembered his audience and slapped a smile on his face as fast as he can. “So it is you after all!”

Ren nodded. “I was wondering if it was,” Goro said, feeling his mouth moving just a little too fast, not quite able to stop it. “You usually don’t stick out much, so I was surprised to see you keeping such colorful company.”

He hadn’t actually meant for the mild insult, for once, but Sakamoto still frowned a little anyways, Takamaki’s friendly grin faltering. Fuck. Whatever. He could salvage this. “Akechi Goro,” he said, giving his best Detective Prince smile and a little wave. “I often patronize the cafe where Ren works. You must be his friends from school?”

“That’s right!” Takamaki, at least, seemed willing to let the slight pass. She gave a cheery nod of her head. “I’m Takamaki Ann, this guy --” she elbowed Sakamoto, who yelped “-- is Sakamoto Ryuji, and, um,” she glanced over her shoulder at Kitagawa, who gave Goro a wan smile, “this is Kitagawa Yusuke.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” Goro said, giving the little head tilt he’d practiced a thousand times in the mirror. Fucking hell. They were all still _looking_ at him, he had to say something; his mind scrambled for a topic and when he opened his mouth what came out was: “Do you all normally spend time together at the station, then?”

Takamaki’s face shifted away from pleasant once more, confusion creeping into the edges. “Um, no?” she said, as Sakamoto raised a single unimpressed eyebrow at him. “We’re just on our way back to my house, but since Yusuke doesn’t go to Shujin….”

“Ah, I see,” Goro said, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. His mouth wouldn’t stop fucking _moving._ “To study?”

Takamaki’s smile had faltered well and truly; she darted a glance at Ren as she said, “Uh, yeah, something like that….”

“I see,” Goro said again, like a complete jackass. “That’s good to hear!” Sakamoto scowled again; Goro couldn’t entirely blame him. He pretended he didn’t notice. “School is quite important after all.” Kitagawa mostly looked confused. “You need to take it seriously.”

There was a snort from the bag. “I don’t get why you like this guy so much, Ren,” Morgana said, poking his head back out. Sakamoto snorted. “What’s he asking so many questions for, anyways? I told you he was suspicious.”

“Ah, hello again, Morgana,” Goro said, eternally pleasant. His cheeks were starting to hurt but he couldn’t let up now. “You and Ren are inseparable as ever, hm?”

“We’re thick as thieves,” Ren said, a lock of hair wrapped casually around his finger, face completely deadpan. Morgana yowled, sputtering on Ren’s shoulder; Sakamoto’s eyes darted from Ren’s face to Goro’s while Kitagawa’s expression slackened with surprise. Goro didn’t let his smile falter, though he gave his head another tilt to make himself seem a little at a loss.

Takamaki laughed, too loud. “Oh Ren,” she said, voice just a touch shrill. “You and your dumb jokes.” Ren gave a little half shrug, twisting his hair tighter around his finger, and Takamaki’s eyes darted from him to Goro before she said, “Anyways, it was really nice meeting you, Akechi-san, but we really should be going.”

“Of course,” Goro said, putting as much charm as physically possible into his smile. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”

“Wait,” Ren said, finally letting his hair loose from his finger. “Let me walk you to your train.”

There were more murmurs from the group, but Goro couldn’t hear them, frozen once more. Fucking -- seriously? Seriously? Goro’d barely managed to keep his face on in front of the Thieves as a whole; walking alone with Ren -- Ren, whose presence made Goro rotate through masks faster than he could blink -- would be impossible. “O-Oh,” Goro said, shifting his briefcase from hand to hand, “no, you don’t need to trouble yourself --”

“It’s not trouble,” Ren said. Morgana had leapt into Takamaki’s arms, but for once he didn’t look happy about being with her. “We haven’t gotten to really talk since exams.”

“Ren,” Goro said, and then he wired his jaw shut. _Do not ruin this,_ he thought to himself. _Do **not** ._ “Alright,” he said, and gave his best smile. “If you’re bound and determined.”

Somehow this put another one of those tiny little smiles onto Ren’s face. “I’ll catch up with you guys soon,” he said to the rest of the Thieves, and despite the doubtful looks on their faces, not one of them spoke up before they all turned away. Takamaki gave one last glance over her shoulder, eyes going from Ren to Goro, but she kept pace with the others and then Ren and Goro were alone in the crowd.

Goro breathed in, and then out, and then smiled once more at Ren. “Shall we, then?” he said, and without waiting for a reply he started forward. “I must say, I really wasn’t expecting to run into you today. Your friends all seem quite interesting. A delinquent and a foreigner, and then a Kosei student. You never stop surprising me.”

There was a pause; he could see Ren considering him out of the corner of his eye. “We’re all pretty similar, actually,” Ren said, as they spilled from the overpass steps onto the ground floor. “All weirdos together.”

Goro snorted, meaner than he’d meant, and made up for it with another blinding smile. “Are you calling yourself a weirdo?” Ren nodded, and Goro couldn’t help it -- he laughed again.

They reached the turnstiles, but before Goro could say any sort of goodbye Ren was already swiping his pass in. Goro paused, and then followed behind. Whatever. It’d add maybe five minutes at most to this interaction. He could deal with it.

“I really did wanna ask, though,” Ren said, as they took the stairs underground. “How are you? You seem kinda tired.”

“What makes you say that?” Goro said, resisting the urge to take the stairs two at a time. Ren just shrugged, which was not really an answer at all and honestly made Goro want to trip him down the stairs, but he reigned in the urge. “A little,” he said, speeding up as they finished their descent.

Ren kept pace. “Work is always a drain,” Goro said, walking briskly past each platform to find his own near the end. The train wasn’t there, but with the number of people milling around, he doubted it would be too long. “Still --” and with no other options open to him, he looked Ren in the eye and smiled “--I have everything well in hand.”

Ren looked him over again, hands shoved in his pockets, glasses catching the light like one-way mirrors Goro was on the wrong side of. “Alright,” he said, voice easy, and in that moment Goro hated him, viciously, with every bit of his wretched heart. Darling Ren, beloved Ren, perfect _fucking_ Amamiya Ren. Goro wanted to push him in front of a train -- only he didn’t, not _really,_ and thinking about that only made him angrier.

“I mean it,” Goro said, and his voice was a low snarl. “I’m _fine,_ Ren.”

Ren’s lips parted, just a moment, before he said, “Yeah.” A hand came up, scratched at the back of his head, and when he moved like that Goro could finally see his whole fucking face, the way his eyes had shifted down almost awkwardly. “Sorry if I sounded like I didn’t believe you.”

“It’s --” He stopped himself, swallowed down every sharp edge of himself, and then looked Ren in the eye. “It’s alright,” he said, voice not quite pleasant but at least not vicious. “I -- Perhaps I’m more stressed than I thought. Forgive me for snapping.”

A familiar jingle began to play over the speakers, announcing the train’s arrival. “No worries,” Ren said, speaking over the noise of the train’s brakes squealing against the tracks. The doors slid open and he stepped a little closer to Goro as the commuters all poured out, the noise around them doubling.

“That’s me,” Goro said, and tried to push past Ren to his train -- but then there was a hand on his wrist, holding him gently in place, and when he turned Ren was looking at him with an earnest expression.

“Hey,” he said. “You can always talk to me, Goro. About whatever. I promise I’ll listen.”

Goro’s mouth went dry. He swallowed once, twice, and then gathered every bit of the Detective Prince to himself once more to aim a blinding smile at the world’s most infuriating fucking person. “Thank you for the offer,” he said, politely, and carefully didn’t jerk his hand away as he extracted himself from Ren’s grip. “Maybe one day.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Goro turned, and stepped on his train, and didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [goro voice] one time there was a boy i liked so i wrote him a note saying get out of my school
> 
> some notes  
> -update schedule: when this fic first began i was really going for an update about once every three weeks which.... i'm starting to think was overambitious haha, this is my first multichap fic in many years and i don't quite have the stamina to keep up going so fast? so as a result updates will probably be more spaced out than i originally intended. ideally they won't take as long as the gap btwn this one and the last, tho!!! this semester was just super busy bc lots of holidays (and therefore lots of extra work LOL) i'll be working hard to get the new chap out a little sooner but we'll see how it goes!!  
> -re:tw's: **the suicidal ideation tag is only going to become more prominent from here.** goro's mental health is not super great in uhhhh canon but also this fic especially. this is probably the last chapter i'm going to note it at the beginning of the ch (unless someone in the comments would like me to continue!) but his headspace is Not Great so please take care when reading!!  
>  -re:featherman: after discussion w/a friend i realized this might not be v clear LOL but anyways in Proud Persona Tradition there's only a Single Sentai Series (featherman) and naturally theyre all based off previous games (neo featherman, eternal neo featherman, super neo featherman, super neo featherman reversal, neo featherman deluxe, and ultra neo featherman). p much every argument that goro n ftb have had re:featherman is just a reskinned common persona argument LMFAO
> 
> EDIT: formatting errors have been fixed! thank you all for your patience, and i hope the chapter feels much more readable now!
> 
> anyways, follow me on twitter @yuunamakis to see my writing or @hirokiyuus to see me yell endlessly about chinese bl


	8. chapter seven: the ones you love mean more than anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growth springs like a weed. Akechi Goro tries some home cooking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't normally do announcements at the top but i added a bonus scene for chapter 6, which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16799389/chapters/39430783) and which is best enjoyed before this chapter!
> 
> ch title from [komm süsser tod](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oIscL-Bjsq4) by arianne!
> 
> as always, eternal thanks 2 almo and apple for beta + proofread respectively!!

Goro stood in the harsh light of his bathroom and examined the marks on his hands sourly. He’d been scouring the net for mentions of Madarame this morning when he’d bitten down particularly hard and realized too late that he’d been gnawing on his own fingers like a child again. It wasn’t the first time, either -- he was self-aware enough not to do it at work or at school, but he generally worked bare-handed at home, and more than once he’d only realized he had his hands in his mouth after he’d already left a bruise.

He’d been slipping, recently. He’d been unsteady since he’d first found himself in April again, but it seemed to only be getting worse. His conversation with Ren the other night had been especially embarrassing. Fuck. If he’d managed to burn all his bridges with the other Phantom Thieves just because he’d been too out of it to watch his fucking mouth, he was going to end up biting off all his fingers.

Well. At least there was one he was basically guaranteed an in with. He tugged his phone out of his pocket, and tapped open his messages with Futaba, and tried not to wince at what he saw there.

A line of messages filled the left side of the screen, with only one or two scant responses from him. He scrolled up, saw the trend continue for longer than he’d liked, and couldn’t help the grimace this time. There was no ignoring the ugly truth: he’d been letting their relationship fall by the wayside after his visit to her Palace.

He had to fix that. It was counterproductive, after all; lack of communication was an excellent way to make the other party in a relationship feel neglected, and neglect naturally led to a lessened emotional investment -- or so he’d read. Regardless, letting things fizzle out would do him no favors here, so regardless of how off-kilter he still felt, he needed to put more effort into their conversations.

( _Thank you,_ she’d said. Two words. Nothing at all, and yet he couldn’t stop hearing them echoing in his ears.)

( _What lets you sleep at night,_ Sakura had said, and Goro --)

His phone buzzed in his hand, startling from his thoughts. Speak of the devil.

**Sakura Futaba:** hey  
**Sakura Futaba:** i need ur help  
**Sakura Futaba:** its important  
**Akechi Goro:** Is everything alright?  
**Sakura Futaba:** no

Goro found himself frowning at the keyboard. Okay. No need to panic. She would have called if it was _really_ urgent, which ruled out the hallucination factor, and if it was pressing she would have probably led with that, right? Whatever she needed, he was certain he could help her.

In a way this was good. She was still comfortable enough with him to come to him for help. Focus on the positives. Besides, it was Sunday and he had no other pressing obligations; no matter how long it took, he could fix it.

**Akechi Goro:** What’s wrong?  
**Sakura Futaba:** i need u to get some stuff  
**Sakura Futaba:** are u free 2day  
**Akechi Goro:** I am.  
**Akechi Goro:** What’s going on?

No response. Goro tucked his phone back away and shoved the anxiety that threatened to rise in his chest back down. If it was truly urgent, Sakura was there. Futaba wasn’t a child, anyways. Even if she never left her room, even if she heard things and couldn’t verify what was real, even if she saw the place where she lived as a tomb, she still --

He tasted blood. Goro blinked, pulled his hand from his mouth, stared blankly at the perfect crescent of teeth still imprinted in his skin. Oh. He’d done it again.

His mouth set; his spine straightened; Goro marched from his bathroom and measured every movement he took until he was fully armored in his blandest, ugliest clothes. She’d sent him an address about halfway through getting dressed; he finished tugging on the nondescript sneakers he’d gotten specifically for these kinds of outings and then left, ignoring his bike.

The walk was a little further than he generally preferred to do on foot, but the movement of his body and the too-fast pace kept his head on straight, and before long he’d made it to the marker she’d given him. On one side of the road was an Inageya; on the other several smaller buildings, and tucked up on the second story of one was a PC parts shop. Goro tugged his phone out as he began to make his way over.

**Akechi Goro:** I’m here.  
**Sakura Futaba:** try again mr detective  
**Sakura Futaba:** wrong side of the street  
**Akechi Goro:** Your tracker must be off.  
**Akechi Goro:** The only thing over there is a grocery store.  
**Sakura Futaba:** like i said  
**Sakura Futaba:** wrong side

Goro paused, looking up to take stock of the building. It looked ordinary: windows peppered with flyers advertising special deals, patrons walking out with bags full of groceries, a worker rearranging the potted flowers currently on display. Had she… somehow gotten in there, or something? Was there someone there she wanted him to meet? Or maybe she needed something inside she couldn’t tell Sakura about? He’d see anything she ordered, after all.

He jaywalked to the other side, lingered for a moment in the parking lot, and when no further texts came, ventured inside. As he grabbed a basket -- even if he wasn’t actually here to shop, it’d be good camouflage -- his phone chimed. A photo attachment: a screenshot from what was clearly a recipe website, listing ingredients.

Did she… really send him grocery shopping? Goro blinked. The attachment remained unchanged. Onions, potatoes, some other miscellania. She’d cropped the recipe title out before sending it over.

Hadn’t she said this was important? He scrolled back up to recheck their messages from this morning. Why was getting groceries so important? What the hell?

What a weirdo. Under his mask, he could feel his mouth curving into a smile.

Luckily, everything she needed was here. Not even fifteen minutes later he finished up at self-checkout, and as he bagged his things he shot off a quick text to report in.

**Sakura Futaba:** good job  
**Sakura Futaba:** quest complete  
**Sakura Futaba:** now return to spawn  
**Akechi Goro:** What?  
**Sakura Futaba:** omg  
**Sakura Futaba:** go home u loser  
**Akechi Goro:** You don’t want your spoils?

She was quiet again. Goro shoved his phone back in his pocket and grabbed his bags, feeling his earlier stress start to alleviate. She seemed fine, after all. And while Goro was no stranger to how easy it was to hide your true feelings through a screen, Futaba’s fingers generally betrayed any genuine unease with (more) typos or a lack of metaphors. As it was, nothing about how she was typing seemed uncharacteristic, except perhaps for the relatively small quantity of texts.

The walk back had been as uneventful as the walk there, though by the time he made it up to his apartment he was grateful to tug off the facemask and the hoodie, dropping the first in the trash and the second on the floor. He was halfway through pulling on worn sweatpants when his phone chimed from where he’d left it on the desk.

**Sakura Futaba:** alright mr detective  
**Sakura Futaba:** ready 2 get cooking?  
**Akechi Goro:** I suppose so.  
**Akechi Goro:** Do I get to know what I’m making?  
**Sakura Futaba:** absolutely not

This time he actually laughed, an awful ugly honk that he was grateful no one could hear. She was so ridiculous. He couldn’t help the grin still tugging at his face as he stepped back into his shoebox kitchen and tied up his hair. He really had missed talking to her.

He let her know he was ready to start; she sent back an OK emoji and then ordered him to preheat the oven to 200 degrees _tho im not sure u have 2 preheat a toaster oven??? but just in case i guess?????_

That set the tone for the rest of the venture. There were no screenshots this time -- instead, she ordered him around his own kitchen over text, adding her own little comments and flair as she did. _cut onions flatwise but MAKE SURE 2 TOSS THE SKINS unless u want sojiro 2 materialize in ur kitchen and smite u; uhhh it says season w/salt + pepper 2 taste whatever the heck THAT means; make sure the filling is thick n creamy ;))) b4 u pour it in ;))))._

Even with constantly having to wash his hands to grab his phone, the whole venture was surprisingly enjoyable. There was something about cooking that leaked the tension from his bones. The sound of his knife against his cutting board, the noise of pouring liquid -- it sank softly over his brain, a fire blanket to smother all his burning edges.

More than that, though, talking to Futaba like this was… fun. He’d almost forgotten, but there was something about their conversations that just let him relax. She seemed to like it when his words were a little less than palatable, cheered on any and all petty snippiness, and as a result the tight grip he usually held on himself in every conversation slackened just a little. By the time he was putting the dish in his microwave oven (gratin, he’d realized about halfway through layering his unevenly cut potatoes), his shoulders were shockingly relaxed.

**Akechi Goro:** It’s in.  
**Sakura Futaba:** nice  
**Sakura Futaba:** and now…  
**Sakura Futaba:** we wait!!  
**Sakura Futaba:** hr and a half  
**Akechi Goro:** Do I get to know why you want this yet?  
**Sakura Futaba:** lol  
**Sakura Futaba:** nice try  
**Sakura Futaba:** anyways since we have time  
**Sakura Futaba:** uhhhhh

The pause dragged on for longer than he’d expected. He tabbed over to his clock app to set a timer, took a glance at his email, pulled his hair out of the tie and gave it a quick ruffle to set it back in place. Still nothing.

**Akechi Goro:** Futaba-san?  
**Sakura Futaba:** welllllll  
**Sakura Futaba:** since ur basically trapped for a while  
**Sakura Futaba:** wanna stream featherman together?  
**Sakura Futaba:** ive been meaning to rewatch the super epilogue special  
**Sakura Futaba:** u kno the one where pink tries to undo the timeline and stuff  
**Sakura Futaba:** until silver manages 2 talk her out of it  
**Sakura Futaba:** i dont rmbr all the details and it was kind of cheesy but it had that sweet sweet pink/white u kno  
**Sakura Futaba:** i mean  
**Sakura Futaba:** if u want to  
**Sakura Futaba:** no pressure  
**Sakura Futaba:** just like  
**Sakura Futaba:** since u have time now

Goro blinked down at his phone. Was it just him, or did this sound like…

**Akechi Goro:** Futaba-san.  
**Akechi Goro:** Did you have me cook this so we could watch Featherman together while it baked?

A telling pause.

**Sakura Futaba:** i mean  
**Sakura Futaba:** that’s not the whole reason!!  
**Akechi Goro:** Oh?  
**Sakura Futaba:** ok so  
**Sakura Futaba:** drumroll please  
**Sakura Futaba:** actually………….  
**Sakura Futaba:** it’s a gift…………...  
**Sakura Futaba:** for YOU!!!  
**Sakura Futaba:** surprise!!!!!!

Goro blinked down at his phone, reread his messages. Reread them again, for good measure.

**Akechi Goro:** Futaba-san  
**Akechi Goro:** Are you saying you made me go out and buy groceries  
**Akechi Goro:** and then come back and do all that cooking  
**Akechi Goro:** as a gift to me?  
**Sakura Futaba:** uh  
**Sakura Futaba:** i mean  
**Sakura Futaba:** when u put it like that  
**Sakura Futaba:** it doesnt sound like a very good idea but  
**Sakura Futaba:** yyyyyes?  
**Sakura Futaba:** i mean  
**Sakura Futaba:** in my defense  
**Sakura Futaba:** uve been kinda weird lately  
**Sakura Futaba:** and i wanted 2 make sure u were like  
**Sakura Futaba:** eating and stuff  
**Sakura Futaba:** and  
**Sakura Futaba:** uh  
**Sakura Futaba:** that u didnt hate me  
**Sakura Futaba:** and were like ok and stuff  
**Sakura Futaba:** u kno  
**Sakura Futaba:** i mean  
**Sakura Futaba:** ur always running around n stuff  
**Sakura Futaba:** so like  
**Sakura Futaba:** u need energy right???  
**Sakura Futaba:** so potatoes n stuff  
**Sakura Futaba:** it’s good for u!!!!

She kept typing, inane messages spilling across the screen. Goro’s hands were shaking; his shoulders had hunched over in on himself; he closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. It was no use.

The first giggle broke from his lips despite his best efforts to keep it behind closed doors, and hot on its heels was a second and a third and a fourth and then that was it, laughter was bursting forth in an unstoppable rush. He laughed so hard he could barely breathe; he laughed so hard tears built up in his eyes; he laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall to stay upright.

What the _fuck,_ he thought. A fake emergency, a ridiculous quest, that air of mystery -- all of it a pretense for this! He was hiccuping now, he’d been laughing so hard, and the hiccups scraped against his throat. What a freak, what a weirdo. How the hell did her brain work? Fuck. He was so, so fond of her.

**Sakura Futaba:** goro???  
**Sakura Futaba:** im sorry  
**Sakura Futaba:** i just wanted 2 talk 2 u again  
**Sakura Futaba:** i didnt think it thru  
**Sakura Futaba:** please dont be too mad  
**Akechi Goro:** Don’t worrry  
**Akechi Goro:** I’m not mad  
**Akechi Goro:** Honeslty?  
**Akechi Goro:** This is the funniest thing thats happened to me in weeks.

His hands were shaking just a little too hard to type properly. His vision was blurry; he had to squint to see the keys. When a drop hit his screen, he wiped it with a shaky thumb and pretended the tear was just another side-effect of the laughter.

It was so strange, being this happy. He didn’t know how to react to it at all.

**Sakura Futaba:** so ur not mad??  
**Akechi Goro:** No  
**Akechi Goro:** I’m defiantly not mad at you.  
**Akechi Goro:** *definitely  
**Akechi Goro:** Don’t worry. :)  
**Sakura Futaba:** oh  
**Sakura Futaba:** well  
**Sakura Futaba:** that’s good then!!!!  
**Sakura Futaba:** sooooooo  
**Sakura Futaba:** featherman?  
**Akechi Goro:** That sounds lovely.  
**Akechi Goro:** How does this work?

It was going to take her a few minutes to set the whole thing up, given that they had to wait for his computer to boot up as well. In the interim he took a second to splash water on his face, taking in his puffy eyes and the grin still tugging at his lips. What a mess. He couldn’t stop smiling.

And as he stood there, looking at himself in the harsh light of his bathroom, the thought came to him: he had to go back to her Palace. For the first time, the idea didn’t make his blood go cold; determination burned warm through his veins and kept the chill away. He was going to steal her heart, he promised himself. He was going to _help_ her. All his life, he’d used his stupid fucking power to hurt people -- but this one time, he could use it to make things _better._ He could make her happy, the way she made him.

His phone chimed from the other room, and he splashed water on his face once last time before heading back. She’d sent him a link to a website; he typed it in to find a screen with a video already playing the opening to Super and a chat window on the side. It was easy to settle into watching with her, both of them making little quips or comments as the special went on. At one point, she goaded him into an analysis of the divergence between Pink’s character in the show and the special that lead to a good ten minutes where the screen sat paused and he typed so fast his hands hurt, all while Futaba chimed in with little questions and clarifications that allowed him to expand on his points in detail.

By the time his alarm went off, the show’d been on hold nearly half an hour as their conversation had gone from Pink’s character to how absolutely ridiculous it was that Gold hadn’t been included in the latest spinoff at all, and after he finished a particularly rousing paragraph regarding the importance of side characters, he let her know.

He waited for her acknowledgement and then went to take it out, placing it carefully on his single potholder. It was a little dark on the top -- likely as a result of how long it had taken him to fetch it -- but it smelled surprisingly enticing, and he took his phone out to snap a picture as he waited for it to cool.

**Akechi Goro:** What do you think?  
**Akechi Goro:** [img_2838.jpg]  
**Sakura Futaba:** looks good  
**Sakura Futaba:** but hows it TASTE  
**Sakura Futaba:** thats the important thing  
**Akechi Goro:** Give me a moment.

Out of habit he snapped a picture and then tabbed over to his Instagram, but halfway through drafting the post he found his fingers hesitating. A gift would be a cute thing to post, a demonstration of the fact that yes, he actually did have friends, but…. Something about this felt more personal. More private.

He closed out of the app without saving the draft, placing his phone down before carrying the food back over to his table and taking a bite -- and immediately wincing. He really… didn’t have any skill in this area, did he?. The center of the thing was uncooked, the top burnt, the onions too bitter and the potatoes simultaneously too mushy and too hard. And yet he ate, bite by bite, letting his stomach fill, scraping the dish clean as he went. About halfway through his phone buzzed again, and he glanced down to see Futaba’s name on his screen.

**Sakura Futaba:** sooooooo  
**Sakura Futaba:** how is it???????

_It’s delicious,_ he wrote back. Despite everything, he meant it.

* * *

Goro stepped onto the platform at Yongen and subtly adjusted his briefcase. Despite appearances, it was much heavier than normal; he’d swapped out the usual contents of the false bottom for bottles of water and cooling packs. The pyramid itself was much cooler, but it never hurt to be prepared. After last time, he had no intention of making any mistakes. Today, things were going to go exactly as planned.

...Or so he’d hoped, but he hadn’t even left the station when he hit his first snag: the south exit was blocked off for maintenance. It wasn’t as if he were trapped in the station, of course, but the only other exit was one that would cause him to pass by Leblanc on his way to Sakura’s house. And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t take a detour, of course, but….

It had been a little while, since he’d last stopped in. Not since he’d had that talk with Sakura. He hadn’t been texting Ren, either; in fact, excluding their run-in at the station, it had been well over a week since he’d actively sought Ren out in any manner. Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to walk by. Just for a moment, not even stopping inside, before heading to Futaba’s Palace.

Perhaps if things went well, he thought, as he began to make his way back to the gray outdoors, he could stop in afterwards for an actual cup of coffee. Or if that didn’t work out, then he’d text Ren afterwards and set up another get together. He’d be busy over the next few days, both with Futaba’s Palace  -- to steal the Treasure tomorrow he’d have to make it to the Treasure Room today, not that he was worried about that -- and after he finished his personal matters, he had his… other work to attend to.

Thinking about that made him feel a little ill, actually. The one good thing was that it seemed like he’d be done with it sooner than expected. Once Futaba had her Persona, he’d have a powerful ally on his side, and then there were the rest of the Thieves to consider as well.

They were getting stronger, after all. Pushing through Madarame’s Palace had taken them less time than going through Kamoshida’s, despite the increase in size, and watching their fight for the Treasure Goro had been galvanized by their strength and adaptability. Even covered by that strange ink, weak and shaking, they’d managed to pull through with a combination of Joker’s Personas and good tactics.

(Goro’d watched the fight from further back, this time, a Goho-M between his fingers and ready to activate at any time. Mona had cast his head around after they’d beaten Madarame down, eyes squinting suspiciously, but this time, at least, Goro had managed to vanish without incident.)

With Oracle on their side, they stood a chance not only in surviving Shido’s Palace, but actually helping him through it. He’d steal her heart, convince Ren to help him, and then finally Goro would be able to crush that fucking _bastard_ under his heel. After all these years, his revenge was finally in reach. Everything Goro had ever worked for was finally coming to an end.

And afterwards--

For a moment his steps faltered, but he shoved that momentary weakness away as fast as it’d come. After he finished with Shido he’d spit in Igor’s face, give Philemon a great big _‘Fuck you,’_ and then everything would be over. He’d be done. It was like Sae had told him, once -- sometimes gambling was just knowing when to quit. He’d bow out of this farce as loudly and ungracefully as possible, and that was that. That was all there was too it.

He gave his head another shake to clear it fully. Step by step, he reminded himself. Futaba’s Palace was first; everything else could come after. Shido, Philemon, Igor, Ren -- none of them his goal right now. Today was for Futaba’s Palace, and it was only if that went well that he could focus on other things. No getting sidetracked.

Or so he’d said, but that might not be in his hands, he realized as he turned a corner. Down the street was Leblanc, and outside, stacking empty crates, was Ren. He was dressed not in his uniform but casual clothes, a green apron slung around his neck, and even as Goro looked at him he turned his head and saw Goro, raising a hand to wave.

Goro waved back and began to make his way over, and in spite of all expectation he found that trepidation had not come to rest in the hollow of his throat. The timing of this encounter wasn’t ideal, yes, but… an impromptu meet-up in and of itself wasn’t a bad thing at all. His gift from Futaba had been enough to screw his head back on straight, and a little early damage control wouldn’t be amiss.

And, Goro was willing to admit to himself, he did want to talk to Ren.

“Hey there, stranger,” Ren said, as Goro walked up. His mouth was curved into a tiny smile, the rest of his expression was unreadable. As he spoke he placed the last crate down and dusted off his hands, already stepping closer to the door. “Here for a cup?”

“Not right now, sadly,” Goro said, and smiled apologetically as Ren’s hand paused halfway through its journey to the door. “I’m actually only in the area for business -- though perhaps if I finish in time, I’ll stop by afterwards.”

“Oh,” Ren said, voice neutral, one hand swinging back down to rest in a pocket as the other twirled around a curly bang. “Detective stuff?”

“A personal project, actually,” Goro said. He found his eyes darting inside; Sakura was at the counter, cigarette between his lips and newspaper unfolded, leaning back in his chair as he smoked. The sight was familiar and, strangely, reassuring. Something in Goro he hadn’t even realized was twisted came loose at the sight. His hands came to rest behind his back and he let his head tilt as he looked back to Ren, smiling once more. “I’d rather not jinx it by talking about it, but once it’s finished….”

Ren smiled back, and perhaps it was just Goro’s imagination but this expression was just a touch wider than the old one. “Sure,” he said, hand coming loose from his hair to match the other in a pocket. “I’d like to hear.”

They stood that way together for a moment, smiling quietly. It felt so different from the last time they were together it was nearly jarring -- and as Goro thought that, he felt the smile slip from his face. “I ought to apologize again,” he said, stepping a little closer off the side of the road to stand with Ren under Leblanc’s awning. His face tilted out to the road before them; it was just a little cloudy, and the streets were bathed in a soft gray light. “For how I behaved at the train station. It was unbecoming of me.”

“You already said you were sorry,” Ren said from Goro’s side. His voice floated through their air, soothing as always, and for once, watching him did not feel like an imperative. “I was more worried about whether you were okay. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so stressed.”

Goro huffed out a dry laugh, tilted his head back and watched the skyline scrape against the clouds. “Ren,” he said, and then because he could not think of a lie he found himself saying, “I’m always that stressed. Usually I’m just better at hiding it.”

A cloud drifted just a touch too far; the sun peeked out from behind it; Goro closed his eyes. Ren’s voice, when it came, was slow and thoughtful. “You do a lot of stuff, right?”

“I do,” Goro said. He weighed his options in his mind, trying to decide the best way to go about this -- but the Phantom Thieves had always been so dedicated to justice, to rebellion against an unfair system, hadn’t they? Honesty, for once, might be his best option. “And I do it twice as well as anyone else, because if I don’t….”

He let his mouth twist down, let his own genuine frustration seep onto his face as he spoke. “I’m the youngest person at the station by far,” he said, slowly. “If my work is subpar in any way -- if my work is even _average_ \-- it’s a sign that I’m too young for what I’m doing, and therefore ought to be removed from my post and sent back to school with the rest of the children.”

His head listed to the side. “And yet when I succeed, it's a fluke, or because someone helped me, or from luck. It's never my own ability.” A sigh bit at the corner of his mouth and for once he let it free, fluttering away into the open air. He opened his eyes to watch it go, staring out into the gray distance. “It doesn’t matter what I do, or how hard I try. I’m never good enough for--” At the last second he managed to swallow back the trio of syllables that wanted to come tumbling out; forced his mouth to form around, “--them,” instead.

Still, the pause seemed to hang in the air between them. Goro closed his eyes again, let himself lean back a little against Leblanc’s storefront. And then -- the rustle of fabric, a slow deep breath. “You’ve had it tough,” Ren said, and his voice was so gentle it hurt. Goro’s throat went tight, suddenly; his closed eyes stung.

And yet despite the day’s gloom he could feel the sun warm on his face. “I…” he said, and like that it was strangely easy to open his mouth and say: “I have.” It felt less like weakness than he’d expected. He opened his eyes and kept them trained on the sky above, watched the clouds journey forth despite the rooftops that bit into them. “I really have, haven't I.”

How strange, he thought, staring upwards. How strange that his life could take him here -- to this place, to this person. How strange that he could be around people who seemed to truly care, who worried if he ate or slept enough or took care of himself. How strange. How utterly strange.

The clouds continued to drift across the sky. Goro watched their endless journeys, watched them march ever forward, pushing past rooftops into the empty space beyond. His lungs expanded, contracted; dead man walking he nevertheless breathed.

It could've been minutes or hours before he glanced over at Ren from the corner of his eye. For just a moment he found an unguarded expression, concentration and… concern, maybe. Something similar, but a touch too intense to be sympathetic. It washed away the second their eyes met, replaced by a more gentle look, but that honesty was something Goro wouldn't be forgetting any time soon. The heat of it was more comforting than any gentle word, and when Goro felt a smile crawl across his face he didn't smother it.

But as he shifted his briefcase knocked against his legs, and as he felt the weight of it he remembered the reason he’d come to Yongen at all. He sighed, leaned his head back again, took a moment more to stand unmasked at Ren’s side. “I… really ought to be going,” he said, reluctantly, to the sky. “As much as I’d like to stay.”

There was a quiet pause before Ren spoke. “You can always come back.”

Goro’s smile crept back onto his face: small, crooked, real. “I can, can't I?” he murmured, tilting his face up towards the sun just for a moment before he glanced back at Ren. “Maybe I will.”

Still, that was for later, not now. He straightened up, readjusted his briefcase. “Either way, I’ll be in contact,” he said, reaching up to tuck a bit of hair behind his ear. “Maybe we can study together soon.”

“Sounds good to me.”

And with that there really was no reason to linger. Goro stepped out from under the awning, felt weak light press against his body, and the juxtaposition of that faint warmth with the thing he’d seen earlier was so strong that before he knew what he was doing he’d paused mid-step. “You know,” he said, words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them, “It’s the same for me.”

He turned. Ren’s head had tilted a little, a clear invitation to continue. There was the faintest shadow between his eyes, the merest suggestion of a furrow between his brow, one that would’ve been hidden in any other place where the sun wasn’t shining down clear between them. Honestly, Goro thought. It was ridiculous, how Ren could always make him want to grin. “Do you remember,” Goro said, “what you said before? About my smile. You said that you liked it either way.” Even now the memory made his ears heat up, but he didn’t falter. “I want you to know, it’s the same for me. I like your unpleasant faces just as much as your nice ones.”

Ren blinked, lips parting just for a second before a hand reached up to rest at the back of his neck. “Ah-- Thanks,” he said, eyes flickering down at lightning speed before fixing back on Goro like they’d never left.

“I mean it,” Goro said, taking heart from this little tell and letting himself tease. “Honesty is a good look on you, Ren.”

Ren’s hand reached up, carding through his curls. “Thanks,” he said again, a little drier than before. This time Goro couldn’t help the laugh bubbling up in his chest, head tilting back.. He felt, somehow, invincible. As if Ren’s very presence was, somehow, enough to keep him safe. As if being with Ren, somehow, was enough.

It wasn’t, of course. Love and affection didn’t amount to anything at all. Goro knew that better than anyone. And yet he couldn’t shake that feeling from under his skin, couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his face. He looked back at Ren, and felt his heart beating against his ribs, and thought that he might be able to live forever.

How stupid, how stupid. Ren still wasn’t looking away, watching Goro with unfathomable eyes. Goro couldn’t kill his smile, didn’t even want to try, despite how hideous it must be. “I’ll see you later, Ren,” he said, and before anything else could destroy this moment, he turned and left.

* * *

He took a moment in the safe room to lock up his heart, packing all the warmth and sunshine from earlier down into a place where he could no longer feel it on his skin. Focus, focus, he had to keep his head on straight, and he couldn’t do that if he was still caught on that look in Ren’s eyes. Futaba was the priority now. Letting his mind wander would only get him killed.

He slipped out of the safe room dressed all in white, careful not to let the long red nose of his mask catch on the door as it closed behind him. A Shadow was patrolling in front of him, but its back was turned, and these things were stupid enough that he didn’t even bother killing it before darting back to the platforms he’d clambered up that first time.

It hadn’t even been two weeks since then. How odd.

Once, twice, thrice; each jump was effortless and in a moment he was back in front of that crack he’d crept through before. He pushed himself back through, pushing his mask up to the top of his head so he wouldn’t have to worry about the damn thing getting in the way, and when he was far enough that he saw the faint flickering light of the other end, he pushed it back down and drew his sword.

He’d only worked with Joker for maybe three weeks, definitely not a full month. And yet that trick of Joker’s he’d seen so many time -- that quiet approach and then a violent _pull_ that ripped the mask from a Shadow’s face -- it was something he’d learned to replicate perfectly, seeing it every time he closed his eyes. He’d practiced it, too, first in the higher levels of Mementos where a mistake would be acceptable, and then he’d started using it properly down in the depths to get just a bit of an edge.

It worked here, too -- Goro dropped down behind the thing, and it hadn’t even started to turn before Goro had a hand on its mask and his blade in its chest. It began dissolving under his hands but he didn’t hesitate, Robin Hood’s light bursting from his chest, and instead of reforming it crumbled before him, particles vanishing at his feet.

He sheathed his sword and straightened up. It was almost funny, how much easier travelling through the Metaverse was with a move like that. For a moment an old familiar bitterness echoed in him again, that same one that always came whenever he thought about all the things Ren had gotten that Goro hadn’t -- but this time something about it snagged in his thoughts.

A special move. A secret technique. Things Joker knew that Goro didn’t; things Goro was not allowed to know. Hadn’t Philemon said the game was rigged in _Goro’s_ favor? Why, then, had Ren been given these gifts and Goro himself had not?

Was it Philemon who’d lied? Or did he genuinely believe what he’d said to Goro? No, Goro doubted it. Philemon was a liar, through and through. Why else would he wear Goro’s face? And yet… if that were the case, why would he have taken such a wild chance on Goro? Unless he’d thought Goro so immaterial? But no, Goro could’ve so easily killed Ren in the beginning, if he’d wanted to. So then, what did this mean? What exactly was going on here?

Goro squeezed his eyes shut, pushed his thoughts off this railroad they threatened to spiral down. This wasn’t the fucking _time._ He had a job to do today, and he was going to do it.

“Imposter.”

Goro froze. Her voice wasn’t cold, because it wasn’t anything at all, and that empty affect sank down under his skin like static. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He shouldn’t have lingered after killing that Shadow. She’d basically said straight to his face that this was an important location -- of course the guard disappearing would be an enormous red flag. He hadn’t expected her to show up personally, of course, but not leaving immediately really had been a terrible decision.

Well. It wasn’t the first bad decision he’d ever made. He just had to adapt.

“Pharaoh,” he said, turning. Futaba’s Shadow was watching him with that same empty face from last time, standing right next to the coffin that -- that had that other him inside it. His cognitive self. He pulled his mask off, slowly, and did not look at it as he smiled at her benignly. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

She didn’t react at all. Compared to the Futaba out there, in reality -- both the one he knew now and the one from before -- her utter stoicism was so out of character Goro barely knew how to react to it. Still, he had to try. “Why do you think I’m an imposter?”

Her head tilted, just a fraction, noticeable only in the way her hair shifted on her shoulders. “You’re alive.”

Goro waited. They watched each other silently. Patience was his usual strategy for quietude, people loved to talk about themselves -- but this Futaba wasn’t really a person, was she? Not even in the way most Shadows were. This Futaba was a corpse, and dead men tell no tales.

His smile did not falter. This was not a place he could afford mistakes. He owed it to her to wrench this distortion from her heart. Even if it left the inside of his throat scraped dry, even if watching her like this made something awful build up hot in his chest -- he couldn’t hesitate. He would wear his pleasant mask like armor, and keep her safe. “Why do you think I should be dead?” he said, and his voice miraculously did not shake.

Another tilt of her head, a degree more. “Why wouldn’t you be?” she said. “You talk to me every day. You’re the closest thing I have to a friend. I’m going to kill you.”

He closed his fist, tried to dig his fingernails in just for a moment before he remembered the leather he wore. “What do you mean by that?” he said, even, even, even.

She watched him a long, long moment, and then suddenly her feet lifted from the ground. “Come,” she said, and then she was floating backwards, so fast that in the moment it took Goro to respond she’d already rounded the corner away. He stumbled forward and then rushed after her _,_ adrenaline suddenly bursting through his veins, heartbeat loud in his ears, and when he scrambled to the hall she’d retreated down it was only the distant flutter of her hair peeking from behind the next bend that even let him know where she’d gone.

He ran. Fast, frantic, all thought lost under the urgent need to keep her in his sight. Shadows snarled at him but he ducked under their grasping hands, their gaping mouths, and even as his breath began to come in pants, as his clothes began to stick to his skin, he didn’t stop. If he lost her, he knew, suddenly, with a terrifying certainty -- if he lost Futaba here, he wouldn’t find her again.

They were going up, a part of him noticed distantly. She was leading him through hidden staircases and over crumbling slopes, and the further they went the more simultaneously grandiose and dilapidated the place looked. He ducked traps, leapt over holes in the ground, and all the while urgency bit at his heels, all the while he saw just the faintest snatches of her fluttering away from him, and as she rounded another corner away from him he put on an extra burst of speed and --

Nearly ran into her where she stood, no longer floating, in the center of the room. He swerved away from her, stumbling to the side and slamming hard into the wall. For a moment he was frozen in place, breathing hard, and as the frenzied energy slowly drained from his body, he let himself sag a little harder against cold stone.

Futaba’s Shadow was, for once, not watching him. Her eyes head was tilted up to the wall behind him; she lifted a single hand to point and said, simply, “Look.”

Goro looked. The wall he’d been leaning on was not a wall at all, but a mural, looming over the two of them in the dim light. On the left was Futaba, dressed as a pharaoh, sitting high in a throne; on the right were three men in suits with owls for heads, the one in front thrusting a sheaf of papers out in front of himself like a weapon. “What…” he started to say, but before he could there was a voice that seemed to echo from all around him.

“‘ _I should never have had Futaba.’_ ” A man’s voice, deep and guttural, the low rumbling of it shaking deep in Goro’s bones. “ _‘She was always such a bother.’ It seems you caused your mother a great deal of trouble, Futaba-chan. She must have had some kind of maternity neurosis….”_

“Do you see now?” Futaba’s Shadow said. Goro, frozen in place, could not turn to look at her. Her voice was the only clear thing amidst the static suddenly buzzing in his ears. “Do you see now, what kind of person I am, Akechi Goro?” Her voice grew closer; there were no footsteps. His rotten tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“I killed her.” There was the faintest impression of movement in his peripherals; he could not turn his head to look her in the eye. “I killed my mother.”

So that was what it was. So that was what rested here, in the core of this place. That was the secret that trapped Futaba in her own head, that was the thing that whispered in her ears and left her shaking and whimpering and afraid, that left her locked up in her own home like a prisoner. She believed she had killed her mother. She believed it was her own fault that Isshiki Wakaba was dead. She honestly, truly believed that the person that had pushed Isshiki Wakaba into traffic, the one holding that smoking gun, the culprit that ruined her life was standing here, in this tomb.

Well. At this exact moment, she wasn’t wrong.

He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, he wanted to choke himself out where he stood. To think, he’d come here thinking he could _help_ her! He’d thought he could _save_ her, he’d thought he could make things _better,_ as if he were capable of such a thing! As if his hands weren’t covered in blood, as if he weren’t a wretched creature only capable of subsisting on the carcasses of others. He wanted to free her from this place, as if he hadn’t been the one to build it up around her, brick by brick!

Oh, he wasn’t quite stupid enough to take _all_ the blame, of course -- that suicide note those men read out had positively stank of Shido’s influence, taking care of all the loose ends while making sure the culpable parties got off scot free -- but the fact remained: Isshiki Wakaba was dead, had been murdered, and the person who’d done the deed now sat here, in this place, as one of maybe three people in his life who genuinely gave a shit about him blamed herself for it.

Of course. Of course. He’d let himself get such a big head, thinking he could do _good._ How utterly stupid of him, what conceit! He’d forgotten exactly what kind of garbage he was. Things had been decided long ago -- since he’d first gone to Mementos and emerged with blood smeared all over his hands, since he’d come home to find his mother drowned in their tub, since the moment he’d been born carrying Shido inside his blood.

“This is all I am,” Futaba’s Shadow said, over Goro’s ragged breathing. He still could not bring himself to look at her. “This is what I have done. I will kill you too, Akechi Goro. Who could look at me and say I deserve anything less than death?”

His lips curled up. Who indeed.

Somehow, somehow, he pushed himself from the wall. She did not move to help him, even though he stumbled, and he was hideously grateful for it. He couldn’t help but imagine the stains he’d leave on her clothes; his ugly handprints smeared all over her pale skin. Out the door, down the steps, into the sun, and then his phone was in his hand. Out, out, out, he had to go, he couldn’t be here, he couldn’t be anywhere near her. He landed in the alley outside Sakura’s house and leaned against the fence and wished he was .

He didn’t remember pulling off his gloves, but he could taste iron, he could feel his teeth sinking into his own ugly fingers, and with a strange sort of lucidity he found himself thinking: _what if I bit it off?_ His teeth ground down; blood burst brighter in his mouth; if all went well this is where he’d drown.

He could hear footsteps and that meant there were people, and even like this Goro knew he could not be seen. If he were seen, it would be obvious something was wrong; if something was obviously wrong, Shido would investigate; if Shido investigated, he would take steps to correct the problem; if Goro died, Shido would continue unfettered and ruinous. Shido had to die. Goro was a weapon, but for once he would point himself the correct way.

That was right, he thought, wrenching his hand from his mouth. That was right, that was something he already knew. He was a weapon. He was a smoking gun. All he did was hurt people. He’d known this since long ago. He would do this one last thing and then he would ensure he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again.

Gloves on, mouth wiped, he straightened up and realized too late that he’d left his briefcase in the Palace. How stupid. How stupid. He stood up straighter, he walked away. The train station was closed on the side he needed and so he walked instead, feet moving, expression blank. Perhaps someone called his name, perhaps no one did. He walked, he walked, he walked.

_This is all I am,_ he thought, unlocking his door. _This is all I am,_ he thought, kicking off his shoes and dropping his phone next to them. _This is all I am,_ he thought, stepping into the shower and wrenching the water on, freezing cold as it soaked him through his clothes. _This is all I am. This is all I am. This is all I am._

He sank down. His slacks clung uncomfortably to his legs; his jacket grew heavy and clogged. Water flung itself into his open eyes, slowly heating even as he sat, warmer and warmer and warmer until it grew scalding, and even as he burnt up he did not turn it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the alternate summary for this was smth abt "the rise before the drop" but i decided the last scene would work better if no one realized it was coming :)
> 
> anyways some notes!  
> -first off, as mentioned above, pef has bonus content! there's no requirement to read it for the rest of the story to make sense, but it does serve to highlight a few things & show scenes that goro himself might not be aware of, considering he's the pov character!  
> -secondly, apple made this [absolutely amazing comic](https://thematchalight.tumblr.com/post/180453522623/from-perhaps-even-friends-by-hirokiyuu-happy) for my birthday!!! it's beautiful. feast ur eyes. weep  
> -third, i wrote up some liner notes about prev pef chapters! you can find them [here](http://hirokiyuu.tumblr.com/tagged/ng-au-stuff) if ur interested! i don't have a dedicated meta tag for this fic but if u scroll it's there LOL  
> -sorry for ch delay! a lot of factors went into it (vacation+other rl shit, incredible difficulty w/some of the scenes, at one point i rolled enkidu in f/go and almond hardblocked me on all forms of communication) but i hope the ch itself makes up for it! 
> 
> as always catch me on twit @yuunamakis for my writing or @hirokiyuus if you wanna see me crying abt mxtx!!


	9. chapter eight: much too late to talk the knife out of their hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stepping off the coastal shelf. Akechi Goro orders some udon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the usual shoutout to almo and appuwu for editing and proofreading!
> 
> chapter title from okkervil river's [the latest toughs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tziQcj4XIYw)
> 
>  **cw: emetophobia** for this chapter!

His jacket still wasn’t quite dry. He’d found it hanging in the bathroom when he’d gotten home, fan running on high, but when he’d taken off his gloves to test the fabric, it’d still been damp. His pants weren’t any better off -- thank fuck he had two pairs of those, at least. He’d only barely managed to convince his teachers to let him off the hook for “forgetting” his jacket.

The thing was -- Goro didn’t actually remember hanging either of them up. He must’ve, yesterday, at some point, but when he tried to remember anything since passing out on the floor and waking up half-submerged this morning, a full day later, it was all blank. He had all his books; he had all his station files; there was an onigiri wrapper from the conbini down the street in his trash. And yet when he tried to remember how he’d gotten any of these things, he couldn’t.

How stupid of him. What he’d seen in that awful place didn’t change anything. There was no reason to be so upset. Hadn’t he already known what he was? He’d never regretted it before, had he? All he’d been doing, all he’d ever done, was simply what he had to. Every action he’d ever taken, every hurt he’d ever inflicted, it’d all been  _ necessary _\--

Goro closed his eyes. The nausea rising up in his stomach was  _not productive._ He didn’t have the fucking  _ time  _ to deal with it. He’d already wasted the day he could’ve spent at her Palace, and now he’d have to put off stealing her heart until next week, what with finishing his assignments tonight for his meeting with Shido in a few days. None of the feelings swirling up inside of him right now were something he could afford.

He only realized how tightly he’d been clenching his jacket when he let go of it and saw the fabric rest damp and crinkled. Fuck, had he even washed it, after he’d gotten home and had his little pity party in the shower? He couldn’t remember. What if he’d ruined it? Wouldn’t be a surprise, with the kind of person he was.

Whatever. They were switching to summer uniforms soon anyways. There was a very good chance he would never wear it again.

His breathing evened out, just a little. Funny. He’d been so thrown-off the other day, thinking about his inevitable death, but right now even just remembering it’d happen soon made him feel calm. Soon he’d be dead. Soon he wouldn’t hurt anyone, ever again.

But not today.

He left the bathroom, his whole body feeling very far away, very light. He shouldn’t have even come home. There’d been no reason. He’d simply been on autopilot, the way he’d been all day, catching his usual trains and making his usual transfers, and it was only now that he realized there’d been no reason. His briefcase wasn’t here, after all. He’d left it in Futaba’s Palace. It wasn’t as if he could just carry his gun without it.

It would be fine, though. He’d used his sword before -- back when he’d first entered the Metaverse, he hadn’t had anything else. Shido’d only given it to him after he’d asked.  _ It’d be more efficient, _ he’d said, smiling, and the next day Shido had presented him with that shiny revolver, a false-bottomed briefcase to carry it in, and Goro had smiled again and said  _ Thank you, sir -- _

He slipped his phone and his wallet into his pockets before stepping back outside and wading down the stairs to street-level. The current swept him back to the station and before he knew it he was back in the subway tunnels, tucked into his usual corner before sliding into the Metaverse with the push of a button.

Loki settled jagged and painful on his skin, comfortably uncomfortable as Robin Hood could never be. The dark gaping maw of the lower levels smiled at him with broken turnstile teeth; he walked into that open mouth without even a glance at the Velvet Room’s door. Down and down and down he went, until he was lost enough in the labyrinth that not even the Thieves could find him. The Shadows he passed he cut down with ease, if they didn’t run before he could so much as swing, and when he called his first target his voice sounded alien to his own ears.

Two psychotic breakdowns, one shutdown. Kazama Yukichi crumpled when he saw Goro, weeping as Loki reached for him. Arai Subaru tried to fight, but he’d barely finished his transformation before Goro ran his sword through the Shadow’s chest, and after that Loki needed no help to loosen the shackles on Arai’s heart.

Goro straightened, sheathed his sword, let his eyes glaze over as Arai screamed and frothed at the mouth before him. Alright, he thought, as Arai’s Shadow crumpled, vanishing in a puff of glowing red. Alright. Two down, and they weren’t even dead. People recovered from psychotic breakdowns. He’d barely done anything at all. Two down, one to go. Just one more. Just one life he had to take, and then --

His eyes closed. And then he’d go crawling back to Shido on his hands and knees, pretending to beg for treats like a dog. Pretend that groveling like that wasn’t killing him, pretend that whatever Shido could give him was enough. Pretend that he was happy like this. And then -- he’d do it all again. Shido would hand him another file and he’d take it, and no matter what was inside, he’d follow the instructions to the letter. 

What else was he supposed to do? The Thieves had barely managed to defeat him before, all eight of them working together, and they’d had months of experience -- not to mention three more teammates -- than they had now. Their lives --  _ Ren’s  _ life -- wasn’t something he was willing to risk.

His hands were already filthy, after all. This was all he was.  Just because he’d met Futaba -- just because he’d started to  _ feel bad, _ like this was fucking kindergarten and he’d broken his seatmate’s crayon’s, like his fucking  _ emotional response  _ to the things he’d done knowingly and willingly was anything that mattered at all --  just because he’d always think of her cold voice every time he destroyed someone’s Shadow now… that didn’t mean he could  _ stop. _ There was far too much on the line for that.

It was all an acceptable cost, anyways. He’d done the calculations before. He could do them again. Nothing had actually changed, beyond the thing that curled up in his gut now every time he thought of pulling the trigger. It was just math.

And anyways, it’d be over soon. Come November he could be done with this. Five months, and then Shido would be taken care of and he’d never hurt anyone again. He’d finally be dead.

Breathe in, breathe out. He’d done this before, he could do it again. He could. He  _ could. _

“Asou Haruka,” he said, and if his voice was shaking, it was fine. The only two people who’d ever hear it would both be dead soon, anyways.

He saw her eyes first, twin moons in the darkness, and then the rest of her took slow shape around them: thin cheeks, too-pale skin, hair hanging limp and greasy around her face. She was shorter than Goro, dressed in an oversized shirt and jeans, and thick glasses rested on the bridge of her nose. The overall effect made her look very young.

Goro drew his sword silently. She watched him without moving, expression blank. Fuck, this would be so much easier if he could just stand here and shoot. He stepped forward: once, twice, thrice. She didn’t twitch. He paused. She blinked, slowly, and then opened her mouth: “You’re here to kill me.”

“I am,” he said. His hand spasmed on his sword; under his gloves his palms were sweating. “Are you going to make this easy for me?”

Another long, long blink. Her eyes seemed to burn as she opened them. “I don’t really care, either way,” she said. “The other me probably does. But I don’t.”

Good. That made Goro’s job easier. She was close enough now that he could see the freckles dotting the bridge of her nose, and the faint dusting of hair on her arms. Her glasses needed cleaning. He could hear a strange rattling noise, metal on metal. He tried to look for the source, tilted his head down, saw his sword rattling so violently the tip kept clanging against the floor.

Easily fixed. His arm lifted -- but he could see the blade shaking, where it pointed at her throat. How utterly pathetic of him. How absolutely stupid.

This would be so much easier if she had a Palace, he thought, distantly. This would be so much easier if all her sins were on display for the world to see. If he could travel gilded hallways and echoing corridors dedicated to sin and debauchery. To kill someone in Mementos was an unavoidable unpleasantness, but seeing a person’s Palace always made ending their life so much easier. If she had a Palace --

Isshiki Wakaba’d had one, after all.

The sword slipped from his hand, the metal clanging hard against the floor. He could hear harsh and distant breathing echoing against the tunnel walls, its staccato tempo offbeat from his heart. That was right. The first murder he’d ever committed, the first mental shutdown he’d ever caused. Futaba’s mother. 

He could still remember: he’d been so nervous, holding his sword in his hands like a safety blanket as he’d slipped down opulent Arabian hallways, hiding behind fluttering silks and darting past archways carved in the whitewashed walls. Paintings of Wakaba standing radiant and beautiful on the backs of a thousand kneeling assistant, research framed and displayed with every name but one scratched out, golden statues of that queen brandishing a pen like a victory flag at every corner -- he’d seen it all and felt sick. What hubris!

And then at the very end he’d found her in her throne room, lounging on down cushions as the ignorant masses outside clamored for attention. “ _They’re idiots,” _ Isshiki had said, laughing, and burning with the memory of every foster parent who’d ever looked at Goro and said the same thing, he’d readied his sword. He hadn’t regretted doing it. He hadn’t. He  _ hadn’t.  _ And yet --

Sand in his shoes, heavy cold air pressing down from all sides. Futaba’s voice, quiet in his ears. “ _This is all I am.” _

(“ _Thank you.” _ )

Asou was still just standing there, watching him with impassive features. Her eyes shifted slowly from his empty hands to the sword on the floor, and then back up to his face. “Have you changed your mind, then?”

Goro opened his mouth; his voice wouldn’t come. All he could see when he looked at her was hunched shoulders, straight bangs, thick glasses framing bright yellow eyes.

Asou seemed to see something in his silence. “Alright,” she said, and then she took one slow step backwards, and then another, and then another, until step by step she’d retreated back into the darkness behind her. He watched her figure fade into nothingness and didn’t -- couldn’t -- move.

His sword gleamed in the dim light of Mementos. Red and aching and bright, it was an open gleaming wound against the dull floor. How pointless, how pointless. He stared at it, at its clean surface, and didn’t move to pick it up.

\--

“Akechi-kun?”

Goro jerked up; his arm slipped and banged against the desk. He sucked in a breath and only remembered to bite back the  _ shit  _ that nearly hissed out at the last second. “Sae-san?” he said instead, forcing his spine straight as he pretended he hadn’t just been falling asleep over his computer at the station. “What are you doing here?”

Sae was leaning against the side of Goro’s desk, perfectly put together as always, and looked at him with a single raised eyebrow. No doubt she’d seen both Goro nodding off and his subsequent return to wakefulness. “Picking up something for a case,” she said, giving the manila envelope in her hands a tap. “You seem tired.”

Goro laughed as charmingly as he could. “What gave it away?”

She smiled at him, sharp and tiny. “Need a break?” she said. “There’s a new udon place a few blocks down I was hoping to try out, and it’d be nice to have some company.”

It was a terrible fucking idea. He hadn’t slept since coming back from Mementos, and even before then he’d been falling behind on all his work. The whole point of coming to the station instead of school today was to hide away in a place where people wouldn’t take photos of him, and where he could throw himself into stupid busy work to keep himself from thinking about ... about anything.

Still, it wasn’t as if he was actually getting anything done. He reached a hand up and pressed a knuckle, hard, into the corner of his eye. He’d been staring at this stupid fucking screen for hours, and he’d barely made a dent in any of his work. The pile of papers on his desk was exactly the same size as it’d been when he’d started.

She’d said the place was only a few blocks away, hadn’t she? If they were fast, perhaps no one would see them out, and as long as he could direct the conversation to work, he wouldn’t even have to worry about having any sort of conversation about his  _ problems  _ or whatever. In fact, the more he thought about it, the better it sounded. Lunch with Sae. It’d been a while.

“Alright,” he said, pushing away from his computer. “As long as you’re paying.” 

She gave him another smile. “Of course.”

They made their way through the station in a companionable silence, but the second they hit the streets, the bustle of Tokyo swept over them and Goro found himself suddenly hard-pressed for air. Still, Sae didn’t hesitate to wade into the crowd, and so Goro followed silently behind.

There were too many people. Voices chattering, bodies bumping into each other, sound and noise and fury and Goro was hyperaware of his own face. At a crosswalk they hit a red light, and he took a moment to check his appearance in a nearby storefront before they continued onwards.

Shit. He was a mess. His cheeks were visibly thin, and the bags under his eyes made it look like he’d been wearing the same eyeliner for a week straight. The wind had turned his hair into a rat’s nest, and the way his collar had gotten loose made his shirt seem unflatteringly large on his frame.

It was an uncomfortably familiar look. He thought he’d left behind this boy -- the one who came to school in the same four threadbare t-shirts, the one who hid behind his bangs and never got chased during tag -- he thought he’d left this ugly child behind years ago.

How hideous. His lip curled at the sight.

Someone jostled his arm; the crowd had begun to move in his distraction, and Sae, already halfway through the intersection, was stalled out at the median and watching him. “Akechi-kun,” she said, as he caught up, “are you alright?”

He smiled at her, carefully charming, and said, “Of course, Sae-san. I got a little lost in thought.”

She stared at him, eyes sharp and focused in a way that made Goro’s skin crawl. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all, he thought. Sae was sharper than most anyone he knew bar Ren, and having her focus on him wasn’t something he could afford right now. Especially not when he’d already let on how frazzled he’d become.

Still, ducking out at this juncture would be more suspicious than it was worth. Whatever. He could play this off. It was easy to get her focused on work, and he’d had a lot of practise in lying about his current state to people far more invested in sniffing out what was wrong than her. Besides, it’d be what, an hour at most? He could deal with Sae for an hour. 

“Come on,” he said as he pushed past her with a little laugh, and this time he made sure to monitor the sound with strict care: watch the tones, don’t go too loud or too high, fade out at the end. “We’ll miss the light.”

She frowned as she followed behind him, but didn’t say anything even as they made their way down the rest of the winding Tokyo streets. Goro kept his eyes forward, counted his steps in lieu of thinking, and ignored every glance Sae gave him from the corner of her eye.

The smile on his face ached.

It was lunchtime, but the restaurant that Sae’d picked out was empty aside from the two of them and the single cook behind the counter. They sat, and when Sae called out her order Goro added, “Make that two, please.” He hadn’t even heard what she’d gotten.

“Akechi-kun,” she said, once the chef had answered in the affirmative. She was sitting back perfectly straight, hands folded crisply in front of her. Goro reached for the pitcher of tea and poured one cup for each of them, serving her first. She took the drink with a nod but put it down and resumed her original pose. “What’s going on?”

For his own part, Goro held his own drink between his palms, and restrained the sudden urge to fling the whole thing on her fucking face. It’d be unproductive, for one, and bad for his image, for another. Just in case, he put it down. “What do you mean?” he said. The tones of his voice were very, very even.

She raised an eyebrow. Smile, he reminded himself. Smile. “You look terrible,” she said. Smile. “You were nodding off at the station.” Smile. “Your casework is coming in late.” Smile. “And you were spacing out the whole way here.” Smile, he thought. Smile, smile, smile. The Detective Prince was made entirely of soft and gentle lines. “So. What’s going on?”

“Well,” Goro said, mirroring her folded hands and bitterly urging the chef to hurry up in his mind. Midterms were over, he didn’t have any large cases, what was he going to say? “You know, there’s always pressure from the top….”

“There’s been pressure on you since you started this job,” Sae said, because of course she fucking did. “It’s never gotten to you before. What changed?”

Goro laughed, and despite all his best efforts the sound was sharp, a little bit grating. “It’s not like that,” he said, shooting for sheepish and missing even to his own ears. Well, whatever. Maybe a bit of irritation would be enough to get her to drop it -- and as soon as he thought that he knew it was a pipe dream. Sae’d never been capable of letting anything go. “There’s certain outside factors as well.”

Sae’s lips pursed. “What happened to having that under control?”

The creaking sound of leather gave away the way his hands tightened around each other; he loosened them immediately but Sae’d already glanced down. “I assure you,” Goro said, crisp, polite, cool, “that I have things in hand, Sae-san. I need you to trust me.”

She looked at him for a moment without saying anything. Goro could feel the lines of his jaw tightening. “...Akechi-kun,” she said, finally. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you. I do. You’re a good detective and a hard worker, and in the past I’ve watched you balance things that most people your age would be crushed by.”

The praise was earnest. A part of Goro -- the small, stupid part of himself he’d never quite managed to kill -- lit up, hearing it. Still, he knew how this worked. There was no way this was it. There had to be a catch. “But --” she said, and Goro’s lips pressed together, because of course there was an addendum. Of course.

“But right now,” she said, “you’re starting to slip. I don’t know what it is, if it’s school, or work, or your private life, but something has to give. And in my opinion, it’s better to take a step back and reevaluate what you can let go of, before you burn out.”

Goro opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Sae held up her hand to silence him, as if he were a fucking child. “You’re still in school,” she said. “And detective work isn’t just a fun extracurricular. You are essentially doing two full-time jobs simultaneously. Honestly, the fact that you haven’t started to burn out earlier is a testament to your ability. Still --”

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do?” Goro snapped, loud, louder than was polite in a place like this. He wrestled his voice back down but didn’t stop the sting of it. “I can’t exactly drop out of school, or give up on my personal obligations. Should I quit my job? Leave, so I can come crawling back in a few years, but this time with a fancy new degree?”

Sae’s gaze was iron and unflinching, and he hated it. He wanted to break her jaw. “I won't deny there will be people who would look down on you for leaving and then coming back,” she said, “but anyone with half a brain understands that you're an asset. You’re still young. You --”

“What happened to trusting me, Sae-san?” Goro said, and he was certain he was smiling. “Didn’t you say you thought I did good work? Or was that simply an attempt to curry favor? I can’t say a little brown-nosing from someone like you is entirely unexpected, though I’m not certain what you think you can get out of --”

“Akechi-kun!” The lines of her mouth were stiff; her posture had gone even straighter. “Don’t take your feelings out on me.”

“My  _ feelings  _ \--” he said, and then laughed. “How much of a child do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re a child at all,” she said, sharply. “If you were a child I wouldn’t bother engaging with your tantrums --”

“Tantrums!” He laughed again, only this time it was too loud, enough that behind the counter he could see the chef ducking his head down further over the food. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize an honest evaluation of your character was a  _ tantrum  _ \--”

Her face went white as if she’d been slapped, lips parting minutely, and as it did the glass around Goro seemed to crack. Water began spilling in, and as it did Goro knew: if he stayed here he’d drown. Sae looking at him like this would kill him. “I --” His head dropped; his hands scrabbled for his bookbag. “I shouldn’t have come, I have too much work --”

“Akechi-kun --”

Goro stood up so fast his chair banged back against the floor. “Excuse me, Sae-san,” he said, trying to breathe around the salt on his tongue. “I’ll be heading out now. Have a nice lunch --”  _ without me,  _ he couldn’t say, and he whirled around to leave even as she called his name once more.

The door opened just as Goro reached a hand to give it a shove, a group of businessmen and women stepping inside, but Goro didn’t hesitate as he pushed through them. Shoulders knocked, eyebrows raised, but Goro didn’t bother apologizing as he barreled out the door and away.

(Halfway to standing, Sae watched him go. “Ma’am,” the shopkeeper said quietly, holding two steaming lunches on a tray. “Will you still be eating?”

(“...I suppose I might as well,” she said, dropping the hand she’d started to extend. “But I’ll pay for both bowls, don’t worry.”

(“Of course, ma’am.” The shopkeeper gave a tiny bow as he left her food and then scurried away. Sitting alone at her table with lunch for one and two cups of untouched tea, Sae closed her eyes.)

\--

“Oh -- excuse me,” Goro said, but the man who’d bumped his shoulder barely gave Goro a glance before he was disappearing out into the night.  _ Dick, _ Goro thought as he crossed the lobby into the stairwell, but it was hard to muster up any anger when he’d already sunk this deep inside himself.

He didn’t usually let himself go so early, but with how his life had been going he’d been genuinely worried he might not be able to do so at Shido’s office. No need to add on the atmosphere of that ugly building to the stress already weighing down his shoulders. And so on the train, when he’d felt water lapping at his feet, rather than kick upwards he’d closed his eyes and let the undertow drag him down.

This was a meeting he absolutely couldn’t screw up, after all. He’d been making a mess out of everything he touched recently, and as long as Asou Haruka’s Shadow was still roaming Mementos, then everything he did had to be perfect. There could be no room for Shido to doubt him. What would happen if he was taken out of the equation this early?

He knew very well just how little Shido valued him. He wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking his life had worth again.

The climb up to Shido’s office felt strange, and slow, and arduous. This far from his body he had to think about every move he made, and so ascending the stairs became an exercise in deliberate repetition: left leg up, left leg forward, left leg down, right leg up, right leg forward, right leg down. Over and over and over Goro moved his body, not feeling any burn in his muscles, not feeling any shortness in his breath, even as the sound of his quiet pants filled the stairwell.

Eventually his eyes caught on the correct floor number. Habit propelled his fingers up, straightening any unruly locks of hair and readjusting his tie, before smoothing down his jacket and giving it one last pat. Through the door, down the hall, knock. “Enter,” a voice called. Goro, one thousand leagues under the sea, did.

Shido was at his desk today, frowning down at the papers on his desk, one hand propping his head up. “Oh,” he said, barely glancing up. “That’s right, it’s today now. Nearly slipped my mind.”

Liar. After Madarame’s confession yesterday, he’d pushed back their meeting, and given the effect that that broadcast had on Shido’s funding, there was absolutely no way he’d forgotten. Goro’s mouth laughed. “Should I come back later then, sir?” it said, smiling.

Shido waved his free hand, attention already pointed back downwards. “You’re already here,” he said, shuffling a paper even as he did so, “so there’s no point in delaying. Just wait while I finish this.”

“Alright.” Goro’s mouth was still smiling pleasantly. His body shifted, arms resting politely behind his back. This was not the first time he’d been made to wait for Shido, of course. He wasn’t stupid enough to ever try sitting again.

The clock on the wall ticked. Shido read some things, stamped some papers, frowned a little deeper. Goro’s body was still. Out of habit he found himself casing Shido’s office, looking for anything that had changed since his last visit. Nothing was particularly remarkable, except for the two manila envelopes on Shido’s desk, one of which undoubtedly contained his new assignments.

(Thinking that, he found himself sinking a little deeper.)

But finally Shido stamped one last paper and then put the whole pile of documents aside, no doubt tired of having to see the teenage assassin standing in his pristine office like a blight on the landscape. “Alright,” he said. “Your report on the Madarame situation?”

“Ah -- yes.” Goro forced his back a little straighter, pushing his smile larger but not too large. Kept it polite and gentle. Nonthreatening. At least Shido was starting with the easy part. “As per your instructions, I attempted to reenter the Palace after the confession yesterday, but it seems to have vanished. I couldn’t find his Shadow in Mementos, either.”

“Interesting,” Shido said, and in fact Goro could hear that interest in his voice. It made his body go so cold that even disconnected as he was he could feel the ice. The thought of those eyes landing on Ren -- well. At least Goro’d laid groundwork to deal with this. 

“It was a good guess, sir,” came in Goro’s voice.. “If the Thieves are entering the Metaverse the same way I am, the next time they try to make a move, I can gather intel so we can decide how to counter them afterwards.”

“Or you can do what I pay you for,” Shido said, mildly, “and knock them off before they become an even bigger pain in the ass.”

If Goro hadn’t been so far away, he would’ve shivered -- but with all the distance between him and his body, it was easy to make his lips curl upwards instead, autonomous reactions utterly buried. “We don’t know what these people are capable of, sir. It might be to our benefit to make sure there aren’t any contingency plans in play before we come to a decision.”

Shido stared at Goro, silently. Danger coiled around Goro’s shoulders like a viper, its tongue hissing slowly in Goro’s ear. He forced his mouth to smile wider. “Just in case, sir.”

Another pause, long enough that a bead of sweat started to trickle down the back of Goro’s neck. “...Well,” Shido said, finally, “I suppose you’ve got a point. Figure out what they’re up to, and then we’ll deal with them after.”

_ That’s what I fucking said in the first place, jackass,  _ Goro thought, but all he let escape from his smiling mouth was: “Understood, sir.”

“And regarding your other assignment?”

Here it was. Focus, focus, he’d practiced this, he’d rehearsed his lines in the mirror this morning, watching every twitch of his face like a hawk. There was no room for error, here. “Kazama and Arai have been dealt with. I suspect you’ll be seeing results in a few days.”

“And Asou?” 

Shido’s expression was utterly impassive; the viper had returned to its perch, curled up around Goro’s neck. There were no mistakes to be made here. His eyes flickered away; his smile faltered; he shifted his weight to his other foot. It was really tilt of his head that sold the whole performance, though, as if it were difficult to have Shido’s eyes directly on him anymore. Embarrassment, ruefulness, just a hint of fear. “Ah, about that….”

Shido raised a single, silent eyebrow. The viper licked at Goro’s cheek. “I wasn’t able to find her Shadow.” His smile came back, but rueful, apologetic. It couldn’t be too big, or else Shido might take it for mockery. “It wasn’t in the Depths, and then when I tried to get into her Palace, I wasn’t able to figure out the source of the distortion….”

“Is that so?”

Goro’s head bobbed. There was no reason for Shido to doubt this -- it’d happened before, genuinely. Not… not in a while, it’d been nearly two years since then, but…. There was a precedent. He’d been unable to find the way to enter a certain Palace; the job had taken nearly two extra months to complete. He could draw this out, just a little bit.

Shido’s chair gave a creak as he leaned back and crossed a leg over his knee. Silently, chin still cushioned in his hand, he watched Goro. Goro didn’t let himself twitch, awaiting Shido’s judgement. Tick, tick, tick, the clock continued onward.

And then -- Shido smiled. “Well,” he said, slick as an oil spill, his voice very nearly gentle. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done, in that case.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned back forward, still smiling. “But you’ll get it done by the end of next month?”

“Of course, sir,” said Goro’s mouth, moving faster than his brain, and then slipping into a relieved smile just for good measure. “As well as my next assignments.”

“That’s good to hear,” Shido said. The longer that pleasant expression rested on his face, the more unease Goro felt. Another drop of sweat was beading on the back of his neck. He could feel the viper’s mouth pressing a kiss to his neck. “And speaking of….” His hand reached out towards one of the files, paused, and then just for a split second he glanced up at Goro with no expression on his face before moving to the other one. “Here,” he said, smiling once more as he pushed it forward.

Goro took it, pulled the files out as Shido watched him silently. There were three papers inside; he flipped through them slowly, committing each name and face to memory as he did. Strange, though. Goro would’ve sworn that last time Shido’d only given him two assignments, that woman with a Palace like a train and the man in Mementos. They were still there, Nitobe Iroha and Ietsugu Kogane, and then as he flipped to the next page --

His fingers stilled. He looked down, read five characters, stared at the tiny ID photo paperclipped to the side. The face looking out of it was younger than what Goro was used to -- not quite so wrinkled, hairline a little lower -- but the sharp slant of the eyes was the same. It must’ve been the one from Sakura’s old government job. It didn’t suit him at all.

“Akechi?” Shido’s tone was light and amused as the viper sunk its fangs deep into Goro’s flesh. Goro wanted to dig his thumbs into Shido’s eye sockets and not stop until his hands were coated in blood. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all, sir.” Something moved Goro’s mouth, but it certainly wasn’t him, not when he was a trillion light years away, refusing to accept the implications of the paper in his hands. Joker wasn’t  _ ready, _ not yet, not yet. No, no, no, this was too soon. He couldn’t make his move yet, he couldn’t, but if he waited --

Sakura’s eyes were a pair of arrows, boring directly through Goro’s pupils and piercing into his brain, blood leaking as they drilled deeper and deeper into the parts of Goro he’d stupidly thought safe. He could taste sand on his lips. Shido was speaking, probably, and Goro was answering, and then somehow he was outside the office and then he was on the train and then he was home, because even like this he knew he couldn’t go to Yongen, he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

The door shut behind him and then Goro was upon himself, gloves discarded so his nails could dig properly into flesh, raking up and down bare arms and leaving drops of dark blood in their wake. They hit the floor and he watched the stains settle into the wood and thought about how he’d brought this on himself, how he’d gone to that place and sought those people out and now it was his own fucking blade at their throats, it was his knife in their backs, it was his hands that were stained in their blood. He’d brought Shido upon then, on Sakura and Ren and --

His throat burned with bile; he took a step and a half and then he vomited on his floor, bending in half and shaking; spittle clung to his lips and he could taste nothing but sour bile. He heaved again, from the smell and the taste of it on his throat, and as he puked a second and then a third time the only clear thought in his mind was how desperately he wished he was dead.

He found himself slumping forward, knees digging into his own vomit, bloody hands catching the rest of him before he could plant face first into the whole mess. His teeth hurt; he raised a hand and bit down, desperately, scraping raw every part of himself he could. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, and yet it was not enough; his teeth ripped into his flesh and he wanted to done with everything so bad he couldn’t breathe. 

The first sob broke from him violently, scraping his raw throat, broken glass shoving its way out of his body. He leaned forward, trying to swallow it back, but even after he’d bent in half, forehead pressing through the mess on the ground and pushing against wood so hard it ached, he couldn’t keep it in. He wept and sobbed and beat at his own head with his fists, smearing blood and vomit in his hair, the scent of bile and iron all around him like the revolting piece of shit he was.

His eyes hurt, his face hurt, his throat hurt; if he’d stopped drawing breath at that moment it would’ve been too soon. He wished he could drown. He wished he could drown. He wished he could --

And then what would happen to that place, to those people? He knew what kind of person Shido was; even if Goro killed himself, even if Goro was eight feet under with nothing to show for it, Shido’d kill Sakura out of spite anyways. It would just be -- and here Goro’s stomach lurched again, bile scraping its way out -- it would just be a bit of fun for him. Maybe not even that. Just something he’d do simply because he could.

He couldn’t die yet. There was too much to do. He should get up. He should start making plans. He should --

Another heave. At some point his arms had given out on him; he was lying with his cheek pressed to his own vomit and blood, feeling the viscous texture of it seep slowly into his shirt collar. He should get up, he thought. He should get up. His body felt so heavy; his shower was a thousand kilometers away. He couldn’t just keep laying here. Even raising a single hand felt impossible. He needed to do something.

His eyes slipped shut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand there it is. fun fact ive had this part planned/written for uhhhh *checks bare wrist* literally months now :)
> 
> some notes  
> -apologies for ch delay!! i think at this point i need to just accept that chs are coming slower than they were before.... both my life and almo's life are much busier than they were when we started this so i think in general we're just not going to be able to keep the same update schedule as before  
> -tho ideally next ch will be a little faster! i'm a) aware this is a Terrible cliffhanger www b) on a ten day golden week holiday so hopefully i'll be able to get some writing done  
> -as usual all names come from almo WWWWW theyre.... probably conan references. i dont know. ive never watched an ep of conan in my life.
> 
> anyways please kudos/comment if you enjoyed! ive been bad at responding to comments this past month x___x but they really do fuel me so much <3
> 
> and catch me on twit @yuunamakis for writing stuff or on @hirokiyuus if u wanna see me complain abt grindblue!


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